


For the Want of a Groundskeeper

by Scarlet_Gryphon



Series: NaNoWriMo Fics [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (sort of), Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comments are highly appreciated!, Gen, Sirius Black is Harry Potter's Parent, flitwick is awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Gryphon/pseuds/Scarlet_Gryphon
Summary: Hagrid was unable to make the first visit to Harry Potter to tell him of his birthright in the Wizarding World. Filius Flitwick took up the challenge in his stead, and everything changed.(Written for NaNoWriMo 2019 and the Rough Trade Challenge 'The Divergent Path')
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter
Series: NaNoWriMo Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553416
Comments: 82
Kudos: 1300





	1. Title Page

(L-R Top) Filius Flitwick (Warwick Davis) | Sirius Black (Christian Kane)

(L-R Bottom) Hermione Granger (Storm Reid) | Harry Potter (Tahj Mowry)

Faceclaim for Arcturus Black is Patrick Stewart


	2. Chapter One

Hagrid stared at the sick pegasus colt that lay in the pen he'd made for it, worry gnawing in his gut. He couldn't just leave it there, not when it needed him so much, but Headmaster Dumbledore had given him an important task to do within the next few days and Hagrid didn't want to disappoint the headmaster. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his wild hair. The sound of a clearing throat had him looking up to see one of his favorite of the professors (though he'd never say that out loud) standing nearby.

“Hagrid. Is everything alright?” Professor Flitwick asked curiously, looking between the groundskeeper and the pegasus. “What happened with this little one?”

“ 'E's sick, Professor,” Hagrid replied. “Dunno with what, but I don't want t' leave 'im if I don't have to.”

“And do you need to go somewhere?”

Hagrid hesitated, not sure if he wanted to answer. Dumbledore hadn't _said_ that his task was secret- well, except for getting the thing from Gringotts -and Flitwick was one of the most trustworthy people Hagrid knew. Maybe... maybe he could help.

“Th' Headmaster wants me t' go and deliver a letter to a student,” Hagrid said. Flitwick gave him a surprised look.

“Oh? Usually it's the responsibility of one of the House Heads to tell Mundaneborn of our world.”

Hagrid frowned. “I dunno if you can consider 'im Muggleborn, t' be honest. His mum and dad were a witch and wizard, but 'e lives in the Muggle world.”

“Ah, Mundane-raised then,” Flitwick said with a look of understanding. “I see. Tell you what, I have the day free. Why don't I go do the introduction and deliver the letter for you? We'll keep it between ourselves, and you can keep an eye on your patient here.”

Hagrid beamed. “Really? Tha' sounds great, Professor.” He dug around in the many pockets of his coat before extracting the letter and holding it out to Flitwick, who took it carefully and then looked over the name written on the front. His eyebrows rose sharply before the diminutive professor schooled his expression.

“Ah, I see. Well, thank you, Hagrid. I'll make sure this gets to its recipient today,” he said, tucking the letter safely away in an inner pocket of his robes. “Don't worry about anything but this poor lad here.”

Hagrid nodded. “Thanks again, I mean it.”

Flitwick smiled at him and then turned on his heel, leaving Hagrid and his patient behind.

  


Filius waited until he'd made it back to his quarters and had safely locked the doors and raised privacy wards before removing the letter from his pocket and looking at it again. The words on the front looked to have been made by a Dictaquill like all other Hogwarts letters, but there was something odd about it. Usually the letters were addressed to where the child slept the most, but this one...

Filius drew out his wand and cast a few charms before sending an overpowered  _Finite_ at the envelope. The heavy parchment shivered under the weight of his magic before falling still. Once the small lightshow was over, the full address was revealed, something that had Filius quivering with rage.

_Heir H. Potter-Black_

_The Cupboard Under the Stairs_

_Number 4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

A cupboard? Harry Potter slept in a _cupboard_? Filius nearly set the envelope on fire with how his magic was surging over his skin, washing over his hands and face in a hazy copper fog. He drew in a deep breath, and then another, and then another, drawing on all of his training from dueling and elsewhere to calm himself to the point where he could safely travel. He gathered his cloak and the letter before going to his bedroom. A full-length mirror stood in one corner, draped over with a white cloth. Filius drew the cloth aside and then pushed his magic into the runes that ran around the mirror's frame.

The glass fogged over before clearing, reflecting not the comfortable confines of Filius' bedroom but the rough hewn stone of the caverns below Gringotts. Filius stepped forward, not pausing in his stride as he passed through the glass of the mirror as easily as moving from one room to the next. As soon as he was through, the glass fogged over again, returning to its former quiescent state.

Filius kept moving, performing the appropriate head nods or short salutes as needed as he made his way to one office in particular. He knocked three times on the heavy dark oak door before entering. The large office beyond was neatly kept, its occupants situated at desks on either side of the room. They looked up from their work, exchanging swift glances before the one on the left rose to greet Filius.

“Duelmaster Filius of Clan Flitwick, welcome. How can we assist you today?”

“Manager Goldfang and Manager Kirak of Clan Steelsword, I have discovered some unnerving news about one of your clients,” Filius said without delay. He produced the letter and handed it to Goldfang, who looked it over while Kirak came over to investigate what had unsettled Filius so much. The two account managers looked at one another once they'd finished reading the address.

“I see. Not even a house elf should sleep in a cupboard,” Kirak said with a disgusted curl of the lip. “You are going to go deliver this to him, I presume?”

“Yes. The Headmaster was going to have Hagrid, the Keeper of the Keys and grounds at Hogwarts, deliver the letter and introduce Heir Potter-Black to the Magical world. Hagrid is a good and kind soul, but he is...” Filius sighed. “He's is definitely Dumbledore's man through and through, and often to his own detriment.”

Goldfang laughed sharply. “Please, it's well known that Hagrid is one of Dumbledore's many lap-dogs, even if he doesn't see it that way. You deliver the letter. We will start our investigations in many of the issues with the Houses of Black and Potter.”

Filius arched an eyebrow. “Issues?”

“A decade has passed and the primary heir to the House of Black languishes in Azkaban,” Kirak spat. “Meanwhile, we have been blocked at every turn from getting him released. Not even Lord Black will stop and listen to us when he comes in to the bank.”

That surprised Filius more than anything else. Arcturus Black was known for being highly devoted to his family members save for those who had voluntarily bound themselves to Voldemort. It had been quite the scandal when Arcturus had fully disowned several members of the extended Black Family for their allegiances, including Bellatrix Lestrange. Curiously, he hadn't disowned Regulus Black or Narcissa Malfoy, even though the latter was a known associate of the Dark Lord's and the former was deeply suspected of being a Death Eater. To learn that Sirius hadn't been disowned either was both fascinating and alarming.

The scandal wasn't talked about much any more, though, save for in hushed whispers and backroom conversations. The fact that Head of one of the Darkest Houses in Great Britain had not-so-subtly spoken out against the Dark Lord and his eager followers had shocked many. The fact that the disownments had happened after the downfall of the Dark Lord hadn't really mattered. Filius knew that Arcturus had quietly spoken with Augusta Longbottom and had paid a wergild for members of his House depriving hers of its Lord and Lady and very nearly its heir.

All of that and he still hadn't gotten Sirius released from Azkaban. That spoke of enchantments and curses to Filius, and clearly it had to Kirak and Goldfang. Filius bowed to his fellow goblins- even if he moved between both worlds, Filius still counted himself more as a goblin than a human -one fist laid over his heart.

“I wish you luck in your battles ahead,” he said as he straightened up. “If you like, I can see if I can speak to Lord Black for you. It may help to get the records of Heir Black's trial and-”

“There aren't any.”

Filius wished he could be surprised, he honestly did. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I see. Well, my offer to speak to Lord Black still stands. Perhaps he'll listen to me since I am not directly affiliated with the bank.”

“Perhaps.” Kirak nodded sharply at him. “Go swiftly. Bring Heir Potter-Black here if possible. I have little doubt that he will need healers to look at him if he's been sleeping in a _cupboard_.”

“Agreed. I'll fetch him and then return here. May your own search be profitable for you and worrying for others.”

Goldfang's smile wouldn't have looked out of place on a great white shark. “Oh, don't worry. It will be.”

  


Harry was busy with the gardening out in the front yard when he saw a plain black car pull up at the curb and then come to a halt. The engine shut off and then the driver got out. Harry was surprised to see that the driver was only a little taller than him with a shock of white hair that was nonetheless neatly combed. He was dressed in a neat black suit with pale gray pinstripes that was tailored to fit his smaller frame. Harry immediately liked the look of him, as while his clothes looked normal, he was decidedly not someone that was normally seen on Privet Drive at all.

Harry stopped what he was doing and brushed his hands off on his overlarge pants before getting to his feet. The man in the suit walked up the front path, pausing when he was a few feet away from Harry. Harry watched him warily, tensing just in case he needed to run. Even with the suit and pleasant demeanor, Harry didn't exactly trust the man.

“Ah, good afternoon. I was hoping I could speak with you and your guardians, Mr. Potter,” the man said. He had a slightly squeaky voice but it was still pleasant enough to listen to. “It's rather important.”

Harry wondered just what was so important as to warrant a home visit, but he didn't want to make the man mad either. “One minute. I'll go and get my aunt.” He hurried into the house, being careful not to track dirt on the carpet. “Aunt Petunia! There's someone outside who wants to talk to you and me together.”

His aunt poked her head out of the kitchen, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And what did he say he wanted to talk about?”

“He didn't. He's wearing a suit, though. I think it's important,” Harry offered. Petunia sniffed dismissively and then set down the dish she'd been about to put away on the counter before heading outside, Harry following close behind her. Petunia paused in the doorway, her lips pursing as if she'd just eaten a particularly sour lemon. The man in the suit merely smiled at her.

“May I come in?” he requested. “Please? This conversation would be best had indoors and in private, I think.”

Harry watched his aunt consider the request before she turned on her heel and marched back inside, leaving Harry to shrug at the man before stepping back to let him in the house.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter.” The man entered the house, glancing around momentarily. Harry saw his gaze fix briefly on the cupboard that served as his bedroom before it slid away. The man followed Aunt Petunia into the living room, taking a seat on one of the chairs across from the settee Aunt Petunia had claimed for her own. Harry lingered at the doorway for a few seconds before he sat down too, choosing a spot well out of reach of either adult just in case.

“So,” the man in the suit said, “allow me to introduce myself. My name is Filius Flitwick, and I am a professor at a very special school, one your mother and father attended starting at age eleven.”

Harry stared at him. His parents had gone to a special school? Had Aunt Petunia gone there with them, not enjoyed it or them, and that was why she never spoke of them except in sneers? Professor Flitwick returned his stare calmly, though Harry could've sworn he saw both a hint of sadness and anger in his eyes.

“Wh-what kind of school was it?” Harry asked finally, twisting his fingers in the fabric of his shirt. Aunt Petunia made a sharp noise of derision as Professor Flitwick opened his mouth to reply. Harry looked over at her, curious to see what had made her respond so strongly.

“A foolish, foolish one,” she said bitterly. “One I suppose we have no choice but to send _him_ to?”

“His name has been down since he was six months old,” Flitwick replied. “And if you don't send him there, he won't get the training he needs.”

“I need training?” Harry asked, immediately wary. “Training for what?”

Flitwick's eyebrows rose. “Have you not been told?”

“Told about what?” Harry looked at Petunia. “What is he talking about?”

Petunia remained tight-lipped, her mouth in a such a thin white line that Harry was almost worried for her. Almost. Flitwick sighed and then produced an envelope from an inner pocket of his suit jacket before holding it out to Harry.

“Here. This is for you, and should explain some things. I can explain more later.”

Harry had to get up to take the envelope from Flitwick, but once he had it in hand, he quickly returned to his chair. He felt heat rise in his cheeks when he saw where the letter was addressed to. How did they know he spent most of his time in the cupboard? That did explain why Flitwick had known to look there, he supposed. It still didn't make it much better.

After flipping over the envelope, Harry carefully ran his fingers over the wax seal keeping the heavy parchment shut, exploring the impressions of the coat of arms there before opening the envelope. He pulled out the two pieces of parchment contained within and read them over, his disbelief rising with every word he took in. A school for witchcraft and wizardry? _Magic_? But what was the difference between witchcraft and wizardry? Why wasn't it just Hogwarts School of Magic if there was one? Why hadn't Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon-

Harry stopped. No, he knew the answer to that question. His aunt and uncle _hated_ anything they deemed unnatural, be that magic, people who didn't fit their predetermined idea of 'normal', or, much to Harry's 'luck', a combination of both. Uncle Vernon especially liked to go on about how people who looked similar to Harry were a drain on society and should, in his words, 'go back to where'd they come from and not ruin good English livelihoods'. That was just one of many bad ideas Uncle Vernon was full of, but Harry couldn't fight back against him, not since the man was at least three times his size. He'd learned to let the words slide off his back as much as possible and not show any outward signs of his anger. Perhaps not the most healthy coping mechanism, but it was what he had to work with.

“So... Magic? This... this isn't a joke?”

Flitwick shook his head. “Not a joke at all. I can prove it if you like.”

Harry's eyes lit up. “You can?”

Flitwick produced what looked to be a polished stick from out of nowhere before flicking it at the ice cream dish Dudley had left abandoned on the coffee table from an earlier snack. The bowl grew four skinny legs and then began hopping around like a frog. Harry watched it avidly, laughing when Flitwick made the bowl do a very impressive triple jump before letting the charmwork fade with another flick of his wand.

“Is that all magic can do?” Harry asked. “And why is it called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Is there a difference between the two?”

He ignored the way Aunt Petunia's face grew more and more pinched with each question he asked, too excited to learn about this new world that apparently he- and only he! -was supposed to be a part of. Professor Flitwick didn't seem to be too put off by all the questions; in fact, he seemed delighted if the brilliant smile on his face was anything to go by.

“Your mother was very much the same way when she first came to the Magical world,” he said. “Asking enough questions to fill a book and then some. I honestly thought she would Sort differently, but- Ah, excuse me. Here I am waffling on and taking up valuable time. To answer your first question, no, that isn't all that magic can do. Those were simple charms that you'll learn throughout your schooling. As for the name of the school, you'll learn more about that there. There is a difference, but it's too complex to explain all in one sitting.”

Flitwick got up from his seat, rubbing his hands together briskly. “Now, normally we would just have you send an owl back with your reply and then leave you to get your school supplies yourself, but since I'm here, I'd like to offer to take you to the magical shopping district in London so we can get them now and won't have to trouble your relatives to make the trip.”

Harry looked over at his aunt, who looked torn. On one hand, it would get Harry out the house, but on the other hand, it would mean introducing him to the world she'd done so much to keep him from. Eventually, she waved her hand in sharp dismissal.

“Go. And if you can find a way to not bring him back until next summer- or not at all -then that would be for the best,” she said. “We don't need to deal with his... freakishness any longer. We raised him for ten years, however unwillingly. He can go back to where he belongs.”

Harry wasn't surprised by his aunt's wish to get him gone for good, and neither, it seemed, was Flitwick. The professor merely nodded and then indicated for Harry to follow him.

“If you have anything you want to take with you, now would be the time to get it,” he told Harry as they left the living room. Harry thought about it and then shook his head.

“No, I don't-” He sighed. “I don't really have anything here that I would want to take with me.”

“Very well.” Flitwick led the way outside and to the car, opening the back door for Harry before getting into the driver's seat. Harry settled into the back seat, buckling in after shutting the door. Soon the car was off, leaving Privet Drive behind. Harry watched Number Four disappear into the distance before turning away, excited to see what the future had in store for him. If he had his choice in the matter, he'd never go back there again. It was never _really_ his home, after all.

Unbeknownst to him, the moment Harry had that thought, the meager blood wards that had managed to survive his years of neglect and emotional abuse faded away into nothingness, the remaining magic returning to curl around Harry's magical core. Harry shivered a little at the sensation, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Excitement, perhaps? A bit of chill in the cool atmosphere of the car? Regardless of what it was, Harry didn't care.

He was going to learn _magic_.


	3. Chapter Two

Filius parked the car in a magically warded spot near the Leaky Cauldron, breathing a sigh of relief once the ride was over. Admittedly, the car had driven itself and all he had to do was put his hands on the wheel and _look_ like he was driving to preserve the illusion, but he still much preferred magical forms of conveyance over mundane ones. He turned to look back at Harry, who was looking out the window with interest.

“Mr. Potter? Could you look at me, please?”

Harry looked away from the window, blinking at him from behind dusty and scratched lenses. Those would be one of the first things to go, Filius suspected, once the healers had their way. Potions existed that would help correct a magical being's eyesight, but they had to be taken young to ensure the magic stayed throughout the main growth period. James Potter had not wanted the potions for reasons known only to him and his parents, so his glasses had stayed throughout his youth.

“Thank you. Now, I must admit, I haven't told you everything yet, but I will tell you this: due to certain circumstances, you are considered rather famous in the magical community here in the British Isles,” Filius began. “As such, many people will probably want to stop and talk with you. We have quite a bit of things to get done today, so I would prefer that we aren't delayed too much. I don't think a disguise would help, as many magical beings can see through minor illusions if they have mage sight, but perhaps a modified notice-me-not charm. It'll merely make people ignore you save for myself.” He hummed. “And perhaps people related to you by blood in some way, but I don't think we'll have to worry about that today.”

Harry smiled sadly. “Because my parents are dead?”

“Ah.” Filius winced at his slip-up. “Yes, for the most part. You may have distant cousins, but I'm afraid I don't know the extended Potter family tree very well.”

“So, what do we have to do for the charm?” Harry asked, quickly diverting the flow of the conversation back to its original topic. “Do you have to use that stick again?”

Filius laughed and then produced his wand from the dimensional storage bracelet he kept it in. “It's called a wand, and you'll get one of your own soon enough,” he said, showing Harry the wand. “All you need to do is hold still. May I cast on you?”

Harry eyed the wand. “Is it going to hurt?”

“Not at all.”

“Then yes,” Harry agreed. Filius flicked his wand, weaving the spell around Harry. He noticed that Harry shivered as the spell settled, a reaction that made him curious. Was the younger wizard magic-sensitive? That would be something he'd have to talk to the healers at Gringotts about, as it could affect how Harry interacted with the Magical world as a whole on a day-to-day basis. Filius holstered his wand and then nodded. He could see the faint haze around Harry's form, but that was due to him being the caster of the spell as well as his natural mage sight from his goblin heritage.

“There we go. All set. Now, I want you to stay close to me while we walk, understand? We'll be going through what's known as the Leaky Cauldron and then into Diagon Alley, which is one of the main magical shopping districts in London,” he explained. “I know it's only the twenty-fifth of July, but some people are already receiving their Hogwarts letters and purchasing school supplies. We may even see some of your future schoolmates.”

“Can you tell me more about the school?” Harry asked as they got out of the car.

“Once we've finished our business at the bank, certainly. Now, keep close, Mr. Potter.”

Filius led the way into the Leaky Cauldron, not concerned with locking the car. The wards around the parking spot would keep it safe from any enterprising thief, assuming one could even find it. The pub was relatively deserted given the time of day, but Filius didn't stop to chat to Tom or any of the other regular patrons that were there as he might usually do, instead going straight through to the back courtyard where the entrance to the Alley was.

“Pay attention to what I do. This is one of the ways you can enter the Alley.”

Filius drew his wand and then tapped the bricks in the correct order, going slowly so Harry could see what he was doing. The startled intake of breath from Harry as the entrance into the Alley formed had Filius smiling. It never failed to make him happy at how even the littlest of everyday magics astounded those who were new to the magical world.

The Alley was as busy and bustling as ever, though not as busy as it would be towards the end of summer when more people had received their Hogwarts letters. Filius made sure to keep Harry close by, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder to guide him through the crowds. They'd almost reached the bank when Harry tripped on a divot in the cobblestone and pitched forward, only to be caught by one of the last people Filius had been expecting to be able to see the young boy.

Lady Narcissa Malfoy carefully steadied Harry until he was firmly back on his feet, her elegant hands smoothing lightly over his shoulders in reassurance before she let him go. “Do be more careful. The stones here are rather loo-”

Filius saw the moment that she realized just who it was she had kept from falling over. Her pale blue eyes widened as she took in Harry's too-thin face and baggy clothes, her gaze quickly snapping over to Filius in a silent demand for an explanation. Filius was honestly surprised that Narcissa could see Harry, but then again, the lad's full name had been written as 'Potter-Black' on his letter, which meant that Sirius Black seemed to have a deeper connection to Harry than just his apparent godfather bond. Perhaps a blood adoption of some kind? If so, then that connection would explain why Narcissa could see him.

“Ah, Lady Malfoy. I wonder... do you have time to accompany myself and my charge to the bank? I believe having you there will help quite a bit,” Filius said. “We can do proper introductions there as well.”

Narcissa considered that and then nodded, the movement sharp. “Very well. But I expect a _thorough_ explanation.”

With that, she turned on her heel and swept away towards the bank, leaving the two wizards behind. Harry looked up at Filius with wide eyes.

“Who _was_ that?”

“That,” Filius said as he watched Narcissa go, “was Lady Narcissa Malfoy. She... Well. I'll explain more once we're in the bank, I promise.”

Harry still looked confused but nodded anyways before following Filius down the rest of the Alley and then up the broad white marble stairs of Gringotts. Narcissa was waiting with one of the tellers to one side, her hands folded neatly in front of her in the very picture of a proper Pureblood Lady. Once Harry and Filius reached them, the teller took them through a nearby doorway that led to the offices of the account managers. Filius kept his hand on Harry's shoulder until they were in Kirak and Goldfang's office and settled in at the seating area the two kept for longer sessions with multiple guests that didn't require the use of one of the conference rooms.

Once the privacy wards were raised, Filius ended the notice-me-not charm on Harry with a simple nudge of his magic, knowing better than to draw his wand in the bank. Once again, he noticed the minute flinch that ran across Harry's skin as magic passed over it. Fascinating.

Narcissa cleared her throat pointedly. “Now that we are safely in the bank, Professor, would you care to explain why Heir Potter looks like he's not had a solid meal in several months, not to mention wearing... those?” She flicked her fingers dismissively at the oversized garments Harry was wearing.

“Sorry, but why are you calling me Heir Potter?” Harry asked after a tense stretch of silence while Filius tried to find the right words to say. One of Narcissa's eyebrows rose sharply.

“Are you telling me you don't know about your legacy?”

Harry squirmed under her sharp gaze. “I only learned about magic being real a couple of hours ago, ma'am.”

Narcissa blinked rapidly several times. “I see. Certain people in power have told the British magical world that you have been well-cared for and receiving all due training necessary for your station in the ten years since you've last been seen here. It will be interesting to see how they handle being exposed for the liars they are.”

“Indeed,” Kirak said. “Now, Heir Potter, my name is Kirak. This is my partner and mate, Goldfang. I am the account manager for the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, while Goldfang is the manager for the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter. Normally Goldfang would only deal with you as you are the only known primary heir for the House of Potter, but certain circumstances dictate that both of us speak with you.”

“A-and what are those circumstances?” Harry asked nervously.

“To start with, the patriarch and current Head of the House of Black, Lord Arcturus Black the Third, is in our healing halls, recovering from a cursebreaking and attempted slow poisoning,” Kirak said. “Had those not been undertaken, he would have died within the year from their effects. As it is, he is recovering quite well for a middle-aged wizard and the healers say he should be back to full health in a matter of days.”

Narcissa's eyes went bright, shock writ broad across her pale face. “Cursed? _Poisoned?_ Do you know by who?”

“The curse is a decade old at least, but the poisoning is relatively new. The magical signature on the curse has degraded enough that we may only be able to identify it if we get a better example of a match from a more recent casting on someone or something,” Kirak said apologetically. They returned their attention to Harry. “The reason I am telling you this, Heir Potter, is that you are considered a secondary heir to the main Black line, much like Lady Malfoy's son is given that she was born into the Black Family, though through a secondary line. Lord Black is her Great-Uncle, and his grandson, Sirius Black, is the primary heir. Sirius Black is also your magic-sworn godfather and your second father by blood and magic.”

Harry stared at them. “Wh-what?”

“It means that in addition to taking the godfather oaths seven days after you were born, your parents had Sirius adopt you in ritual by blood and magic so that if anything should happen to them, he would be able to take care of you unquestioned,” Narcissa said quietly. “It also means that he would have never been able to betray them in any way. The magic of the godfather oath alone would have killed him if he had truly broken faith with them.” Her hands were clenched in anger, her manicured nails digging into her palms. “They left him to rot in Azkaban all because they _thought_ they knew what had happened.”

“Azkaban?”

“The British wizarding prison, lad,” Filius told him gently. “To say it's not a pleasant place is an understatement. The ICW- International Confederation of Wizards -has been trying to shut it down for years, but the Wizengamot is refusing to listen. The politics of all that can wait until later, though. For now, just know that things are in the works to get him out of there as soon as possible and into the care of healers, both physical and mental.”

“So, what now?” Harry asked. “I mean, my aunt and uncle don't want me back at their place, and I don't really have anywhere else to stay.”

“You'll be staying with me until Sirius can take you in,” Narcissa said immediately. “While my sister Andromeda is oldest, she is not here and likely would be unable to take you at this time due to her job as a healer. Besides, as Kirak said earlier, I have a son your age. Draco will likely be confused at first, but when I tell him you are family, that will likely help. You may call me Cousin Narcissa if you like outside of formal occasions.”

Harry watched her warily. “You'd do that for me? Why?”

It hurt Filius' heart to see so much suspicion on such a young face, but given the relationship- or lack thereof -Harry had with his maternal relatives, it wasn't much of a surprise. Narcissa seemed to be pained by it as well but kept her expression calm.

“Because you are family,” she said simply. “And because at the moment, it'll likely be the safest place for you until you go to Hogwarts. You'll be able to learn some of the basics of what you should have growing up, not to mention be able to interact with people your age who've grown up with magic. I won't lie and say it'll be easy or that it'll immediately fix all the problems, but it's a start.”

Harry still looked hesitant, but he nodded regardless. Having a safe place to stay until school certainly seemed to have won out over having to find somewhere to stay on his own.

“Good. Now, moving on,” Goldfang said. “You will need to claim your heir ring for the House of Potter, but before that happens, we would like you to see the healers so we can get you if not entirely healthy, then better than where you are currently. That may require a cleansing, but I can assure you that our healers will endeavor to make it as painless as possible. They're quite good at that, even if their potions don't taste all that good, but I believe that's the way with all healers who use potions regardless of their species.”

That got a laugh out of Harry, who though he had minimal experience with healthcare professionals in general, still knew how horrible medicine could taste. “What do I have to do?”

“Simply follow me. Your guardians will have to stay here to work out the paperwork to ensure no one can complain about your placement until your father is able to care for you, but we won't bore you with that. That's for the adults to worry about.”

Goldfang got up and led Harry out of the room, the door shutting automatically behind the two of them. Once they were gone, Filius turned to Kirak. “How did you get Lord Black to come into the bank so quickly? It's barely been three hours since we last spoke.”

Kirak smirked. “It's amazing what a wizard will agree to when they believe their money is in jeopardy. Once we got him in, we told him that due to a potential breach in the Black vaults, he had to undergo a test to ensure that he was who he said he was. The fact that it was a standard curse and potions detection test didn't seem to bother him. Once he discovered that he'd been cursed and poisoned, he readily agreed to our offer for assistance. Not without some suspicion, of course, but he got over that soon enough. He was properly horrified that he'd let his heir languish in Azkaban for so long. I suspect he'll be quite the ally in the times to come.”

“Considering he'll have the weight of the Family magic pulling at him? I should think so,” Narcissa agreed. “As it stands, I would like to speak to him as soon as possible. I think we should do an audit of all the Black vaults, main and dowry, just in case given the fact that the Family's Head has been cursed for almost a decade. Who knows what may have been done to them in that time? That, and I know that Bellatrix was one of the Dark Lord's closest lieutenants, and her dowry vault would've fallen back to the main Black line after she was disowned. The Dark Lord was known to have entrusted certain people in his Inner Circle with important things to care for, my husband included. I-” She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I will ask Lucius to bring what he was entrusted here so your cursebreakers can take a look at it. We may be Dark, but the Dark Lord dabbled in the Infernal, and I want no part of that around my son or cousin, directly or indirectly.”

Kirak gave her a shrewd look. “If Lord Malfoy does bring something Infernal into the bank, then the price will be that he allows our cursebreakers to examine and study the Dark Mark he carries.”

“He never wanted it, and if you can find a way to remove it, then we will be in the debt of the Horde,” Narcissa replied, well aware of the weight of her words. “It's no secret amongst those that followed him that the Dark Lord made plans within plans to ensure his return. If we can stop that before it happens, then I will be content with whatever price you require. Being able to stand before the Lady of Magic in Her gardens after I die and truly say that I helped to fight against the Infernal and the resurrection of the Dark Lord would be all I require.”

“Lady Malfoy, trust me when I say that the Horde would be happy to stand by your side in this. Let's get that paperwork taken care of for the care of Heir Potter, and then I'll get that audit started. The sooner it's done, the sooner we can lay things to rest.”

  


Harry quite liked the goblin healers. They were nice and didn't seem to mind all the questions he had about what was happening and why certain things were being done. Goldfang had been right, too, about things not hurting. The goblins' magic had tickled, of all things, though not to the point of pain. The potions hadn't been great, but Harry hadn't been awake for long enough to really notice, as the healers had put him in a potions-induced sleep so he wouldn't fight against the cursebreakers, even if he didn't mean to.

Waking up after the exams felt weird. Every inch of him was sore, making him feel like he'd been playing an intense round of Harry Hunting, but he also felt strangely light, like he'd been freed of a weight he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying. The room Harry had been put in was relatively simple, but then again, he supposed a hospital room didn't need to be fancy.

Goldfang was sitting on a chair near Harry's bed, reading what looked to be the magical version of a newspaper. Harry watched the moving pictures on the front in fascination. Was that how all pictures acted in the magical world? But why? What use was it to have pictures moving around like that? Goldfang eventually noticed Harry was awake and put down the newspaper, folding it up and setting it on a side table.

“Well, young Heir, you've managed to surprise us all yet again.”

“How have I done that?”

“Well,” Goldfang said, “you'll be pleased to know that the healers have fixed what they could, though there are some lingering issues that will have to have continuing care as you grow. Your bones and organs aren't as strong as they should be given your upbringing, but we can fix that since we caught it before your first growth spurt. There were some other complications that the cursebreakers had to be called in to deal with, but those have been taken care of and you won't have to worry about them any longer.”

“Okay. How long have I been asleep?”

“A few hours. Professor Flitwick had to return to the school, but Lady Malfoy is still here. Before you go with her, we would like you to claim your heir rings so they can help you connect more with your Family magics and lend some measure of protection against those who would wish to influence you by magic or other means.”

“Rings? I thought you said I was only the primary heir to the House of Potter.” Harry was confused, but Goldfang soon provided an answer, something he was thankful for.

“That's what we thought as well, but things have come to light that have proved otherwise. You are still the primary heir to the House of Potter, but also by blood and conquest to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell. Unfortunately, there is nothing more than a title of Lord Peverell and the Earldom of River's Run. The family seat on the Wizengamot, estate, and fortunes were lost long ago. Still, it is a respected title amongst those who will recognize it.”

“What about the House of Potter? What kind of things go with that title?”

“When you take up the Lord's ring, you will become the Earl of Gryffindor like your father and grandfather before you.,” Goldthorn told him. “It is a title that holds quite a bit of weight in the British magical world. That does not mean that you have to Sort into that House at Hogwarts, however, though it is considered traditional.”

“Sort?” Now Harry was even more confused. “What do you mean?”

He listen to Goldfang explain the four Houses at Hogwarts, as well as some notable people who had been in each. He learned that his parents had all been in Gryffindor, though his grandfather had Sorted Ravenclaw during his time at school. Each of the four Houses sounded nice, though while it was traditional, Harry wasn't sure he'd be a good fit for Gryffindor. He didn't feel all that brave or bold, and honestly, all he wanted right then was to be known for what _he_ had done and not the people who had come before him.

Harry made a promise to himself that he would learn about all four Houses before he had to go to Hogwarts. Surely there was a way to make sure he got the one he wanted and not the one he was expected to go in just because his parents had.

“So,” he said once Goldfang had finished talking, “do we have to go back to your office to get my rings, or can I put them on here?”

“It'd be best we go back to my office, but I'll have to talk to the healers first.” Goldfang got up with a grunt. “I won't be long.”

The healers gave Harry a last look-over before he was allowed to leave the healing halls, and once the all-clear was given, he and Goldfang returned to the office. Lady- no, she'd said to call her Cousin Narcissa, hadn't she? -Cousin Narcissa was still there, looking tired but still quite happy. A tall man with long blond hair that was held back at the nape of his neck with a clasp of what looked to be made from some sort of bone was sitting on a chair next to her, while a boy of Harry's age was off to one side, reading...

Harry squinted and then reached up to adjust his glasses, only just realizing that he wasn't wearing them. He couldn't believe he didn't have to wear them any more, but it was _amazing_. Anyways, the other boy looked like he was reading a comic book, though none Harry had ever seen. The two adults looked up when the door opened, Cousin Narcissa smiling fondly at Harry.

“Harry! How are you feeling?” she asked, getting up from her chair and going over to him. Harry looked up at her, still amazed that he didn't have to look through dusty and scratched lenses.

“Much better, though still pretty sore,” he replied. He hesitated before continuing on. “Does... does everyone always have a faint glow around them?”

Narcissa's eyes widened a little before she regained her composure. “Well, it sounds like you've got some gifts we'll have to train you in,” she said, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. “It sounds like you may have mage sight.”

“Among other things,” Goldfang said, producing a small scroll from a pocket and handing it to Narcissa. “The final results of the healers' tests. He's also a Parselmage. He'll need training for that and the Parseltongue that comes with it.”

Narcissa looked up from the scroll she'd begun reading, startled. “A Parselmage? Like-”

“No. The one known as Voldemort was not a true Parselmage. The gift never would've survived his first use of Infernal magics,” Goldfang said with a sharp shake of their head. “No, he was likely a beast speaker of some kind that used that gift to mimic Parseltongue.”

“Oh. Well, that's-” Narcissa broke off with a thoughtful expression. “Something we'll have to think about.” She finished scanning over the scroll and then rolled it back up before putting it away in a pocket. “Now, introductions are in order.”

She guided Harry over to the man, who had been watching with keen-eyed interest. “This is my husband, Lord Lucius Malfoy. He had some business with the bank as well, so he came to keep me company while I waited for you, as well as our son, Draco. He's in your year at Hogwarts. Draco, come say hello to your cousin.”

Draco looked up from his comic, eyeing Harry with distrust. “Are you sure he's my cousin? He doesn't _look_ like a wizard. He looks more like a Mudblood.”

“Draco! Where did you learn that word?” Narcissa asked sharply.

“From Grandfather Abraxas's portrait,” Draco said after his father gave him a pointed look. Lucius sighed.

“I knew I should've charmed that portrait to be silent,” he lamented. “Draco, you are never to use that word again, understand? It's both inaccurate and you won't be looked kindly upon for using it. Your grandfather was many things, but a good example was not one of them. Learn from his mistakes or you'll be making some of the same ones I did because of my desire to please him. I don't want you to have to go through my experiences if at all possible. You are the future Earl of De Leon. Begin acting like it. Now, greet your cousin properly.”

Harry saw the color rise in Draco's pale cheeks but the other boy nodded anyways. The tone Lucius had used was hardly confrontational, but rather calm and measured. It was fascinating to Harry, and a much better way than Uncle Vernon's preferred method of shouting when Harry did something like breathing or moving wrong. Draco got up from his chair, abandoning his comic on the seat before going over to Harry and holding out his hand.

“Cousin. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I apologize for my rude words and won't call you that again.”

Harry took Draco's hand, shaking it firmly. “Promise not to ever use it against anyone again and we're good. And call me Harry. If we're going to be living in the same place, it's going to get pretty silly if we're formal all the time, right?”

That earned an amused smile from Draco, the expression greatly warming his general demeanor. Harry was less reminded of Dudley and more of someone he'd like to get to know.

“You're right, it would,” Draco agreed, letting Harry's hand go. “Call me Draco, then.”

Harry smiled at him, pleased to have made if not a friend, then an acquaintance who could become a friend. He looked over at Goldfang, who had acquired two small wooden boxes from somewhere that looked to be just the right size to hold rings.

“Your rings, Heir Potter,” Goldfang said, setting the boxes on the nearby coffee table. “Put the Potter one on first and then the Peverell one. While the Peverell title is slightly older than the Potter one, it is still considered a secondary title to your main Familial one. The Potter ring is on the left, and the Peverell one on the right. Put them on your right ring finger. They will blend together as needed.”

Harry approached the table and picked up the Potter ring box. It felt so light and insignificant for something that held a link to a vast Familial legacy. He took a deep breath in, let it out slowly, and then opened the box. The ring inside was made from some sort of silvery material, though it didn't quite look like the silver flatware that Aunt Petunia had made Harry polish so many times for special occasions. A griffin in flight was engraved on the small ruby set into the top of the ring, the design picked out in gold, though Harry couldn't help but notice that it looked like it was backwards. He didn't mention it, not wanting to make it look like he didn't know anything.

He picked the ring up, surprised at its lightness, and then slid it onto his right ring finger as instructed. Harry gasped as he felt an achingly familiar magic rush over him, sinking deep into the very center of his being and taking hold. He dropped the ring box, barely noticing it hit the floor as he withstood the force of his Familial magic greeting him after being dormant for the past decade. What Harry _did_ notice, however, were the two strange creatures that appeared with sharp pops out of thin air.

They looked nearly identical with large floppy ears, spindly limbs, and wide orange eyes. One was wearing a red dress with leggings and neat black boots while the other wore what looked to be a purple tunic with similar leggings and boots to his companion. Harry stared at them, information trickling into his mind from the magics still settling into his core.

“Wait... I know you. Koko... Lulu... Right?”

Lulu grinned at him. “Right, Master Harry! We've been waiting a long time for you to come home.”

Koko nodded. “Yes, we have,” he agreed. “We kept Potter Manor clean and ready for you, even if Domie keeps being fussy about the gardens.”

Harry laughed and then, at his magic's prompting, held out his right hand, presenting his ring to the two house elves. Lulu brushed her fingers over the ring's surface first, followed by her brother. Harry smiled at the feeling of their magics settling on to his. The two felt fiercely intelligent but also not above a spot of mischief if needed. Harry had a feeling that both traits were going to be needed in the times ahead.

The donning of the Peverell ring was rather anticlimactic after that. Harry felt less of a rush and more of a faint tingle as the two rings melded together like how Goldfang had mentioned. He wondered why there wasn't as strong as a reaction but figured he could ask about it later. He bent down and picked up the box for the Potter ring, setting it back on the table.

“Congratulations, Heir Potter-Peverell,” Goldfang said, “on reclaiming your titles and the bonds to your house elves. May the Lady guide your path as you step into the wider magical world.”

“Thank you very much,” Harry replied, not entirely sure if there was an appropriate response or not. Goldfang didn't seem too offended by it, instead taking the ring boxes and putting them away. “Is it okay if I just go by Harry Potter, or do I have to tell everyone all my titles every time I introduce myself?”

Lucius laughed a little at that. “You can use a short form of your name, but in a formal setting, your first introduction or announcement will always require the long form. So you can be Harry Potter-Black in your daily life, but formally you'll be known as Heir Potter-Peverell until you come of age, and then you'll be Lord Potter-Peverell, the Earl of Gryffindor and River's Run. Don't worry; you'll be taught all of this over time.”

Harry gave him a thankful smile. That sounded a lot better than having to learn everything all at once. He played with his ring a little, not used to feeling the slight weight on his hand. “So, now what?”

“Now,” Goldfang replied, “I will need your permission to do a thorough audit of the Potter estate and accompanying vaults. We couldn't do it before you took up your ring, but now that you have, we can recall any entailed belongings and stop any outgoing transactions that weren't specifically set up in your parent's wills.”

Narcissa frowned at that. “They had wills?” She looked at Lucius. “Do you ever remember there being an announcement of a will reading?”

Lucius shook his head slowly. “No, I don't, which is troublesome. Are you able to have the wills finally heard, Goldfang, now that Harry has taken up his ring?”

“Personally _I_ cannot give the order, but if Heir Potter-Peverell were to include that in his instructions to me, perhaps even in writing, then we can definitely include that in our audit of the vaults.”

It took a moment for Harry to realize what that meant, but when he got it, he laughed. “I think I can do that.”

Once Goldfang had the appropriate paperwork filled out and the request to finally read and fulfill the contents of James and Lily's wills added, Harry followed Lucius' guidance in how to properly sign the document and seal his official signature, including adding a bit of magic into the wax seal as he pressed his heir ring into the soft substance. It would, according to Lucius, prove that Harry had truly been the one to sign the document, as an individual witch or wizard's magical signature was all but impossible to truly replicate. Harry felt a bit of relief when he realized that the design on his ring being backwards made sense, as when pressed into the wax, everything was the right way around.

As soon as everything was all set and done, Harry and the Malfoys left the bank, though not without Lucius putting another modified notice-me-not charm on Harry. People would remember that they'd seen Harry but not exactly who he was. Shopping was a lot easier that way, especially after it had been explained to Harry just _why_ he'd become famous. Harry immediately hated that people liked him simply because he hadn't died with his family. How stupid was _that_?

The shopping proved to be surprisingly mundane save for two instances. They stopped at the Magical Menagerie to pick up an owl for Harry to use at school, and while he had found a lovely snowy owl to use for mail, he'd also found himself drawn to a tank in the back of the store where a snake lay coiled up. His magic tingled the longer he stared at the snake, making him itch to pick it up and hold it.

Narcissa found him there a few minutes later, his nose nearly pressed up against the glass of the tank while the snake stared right back at him. “Harry? Is everything alright?”

“Can... can we get this snake?” Harry asked, not taking his gaze away from the snake. “My magic keeps going all itchy every time I think about leaving it here.”

Narcissa hummed thoughtfully and then looked at the label on the tank. “An egg-eating snake for a familiar? Hm. Well, people won't be able to say it's dangerous to them, and a familiar will help with calming your mage sight to manageable levels until you can do it on your own. Very well. I'll have the shopkeeper get it for you, and then we can have the elves set up the appropriate tank and habitat for it back at your room in the manor.”

Harry's smile was blinding as he finally pulled away from the tank. After negotiating with the shopkeeper about the price and learning what kind of eggs would be best for the snake- discovered to be a male that turned out to be named Whisper of Scales, or Whisper for short -Harry happily draped his new familiar around his neck while Koko and Lulu popped back to Malfoy Manor with the shopping they'd collected so far, including the owl.

The second surprise was when they went to get Harry's wand. The wand shop was... odd. The amount of magical energy stored inside made Harry's eyes hurt, and the dust had him sneezing sharply several times in a row. He knew immediately that Aunt Petunia would never be caught alive or dead in a place like that.

The shopkeeper was even stranger than his shop, and that was saying something. Harry wasn't sure he liked Mr. Ollivander all that much. The older wizard seemed far too invested in talking about the past and how pleased he was to see Harry returned to the magical world. It was creepy, to be honest, and Harry wanted to get out of the shop as quickly as he could without making it look rude.

Finding a wand seemed to take _forever_. The pile of wands that Mr. Ollivander had Harry try kept growing and growing. There was an incident with a holly and phoenix feather wand towards the end of the visit that had Harry grow even more suspicious of Ollivander. For a moment, it looked like that wand was going to be Harry's match, but then it suddenly went limp like a soggy spaghetti noodle in his hand. The look of shock on Ollivander's face had been a sight to see.

According to him, the brother to the holly wand had been Voldemort's, and it had made sense that Harry's wand might be its brother. Harry wasn't sure why Ollivander had even _imagined_ that Harry would be suited for the brother to the wand that had killed his parents and tried to kill him. What did the wandmaker think he was going to do in life anyways, follow in Voldemort's footsteps?

Harry left the shop with a wand of cedar and dragon heartstring instead, as well as a wand holster until he could get a dimensional store from the Potter vaults to keep it in. The holster would keep him from being disarmed for the time being and provide a safe place to keep his wand in.

The four of them returned to Malfoy Manor just in time for dinner. Harry was more than ready to have something to eat and then sleep for a good twelve hours if at all possible. Being magic was _hard_ , and he'd only been aware of it for a few hours at most. Narcissa encouraged him to eat as much as he comfortably could at dinner. The food was good, but it was far richer than what Harry was used to and there was a lot of it to be had. He ate what he could and did his best not to feel bad about not finishing what was on his plate.

The healers had said it would take some time for him to be able to eat regular meals, but that the potions he would have to take every meal for the next few months would help with that. The potions tasted horrible, but thankfully the delicious food made by the house elves helped cut down on the length of time Harry had to deal with the potions' sour aftertaste.

After the meal was done, Draco pulled Harry upstairs, taking him to the bedroom and attached bathroom that had been set aside for him. Harry was pretty sure the whole thing was bigger than Dudley's two bedrooms combined, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. Draco promised that he'd show Harry around the manor and its grounds the next day, as well as introduce him to the house elves that worked there.

Harry had the feeling he was going to like his new cousin far more than he'd ever liked Dudley, but that wasn't exactly a hard bar to meet. As he got ready for bed that night- he got an actual bed! -Harry's thoughts turned to Sirius. He wondered a great many things about the man. What was he like? Would he approve of Harry? Would he still want to have Harry as a son after everything that had happened?

Narcissa had explained some things about what had happened during the war over dinner, about how Lucius had been forced into taking the Dark Mark by his father, Abraxas, and how they'd followed the Dark Lord purely out of survival rather than actually agreeing with his ideals. Sure, they had problems with how Mundaneborn witches and wizards interacted with their world, but they also recognized that it wasn't entirely their fault, either. After all, the state of introductory courses and resources for the Mundane-born and -raised was slim to nonexistent at best.

It didn't help that a lot of magic-raised witches and wizards looked at those from the Mundane world as little more than clever tool-using monkeys either. A lot of work on both sides had to happen to make things better, and Voldemort's insistence on playing into the idea of blood purity that a lot of purebloods clung to had not helped matters in the slightest.

Sirius had been on the opposite side fighting against Voldemort, as had James and Lily. Both Narcissa and Lucius spoke of the three of them with great respect, both as people and as fighters. Harry soaked up the stories, eager to get any sort of information about his parents after having been denied it for so long. He couldn't wait to meet Sirius, apprehensive about the meeting though he may be. If it meant a chance for more love, then Harry was going to take it and never let go.


	4. Chapter Three

Sirius Black was many things: wizard, Gryffindor, Animagus, heir, and father. The last part was something he'd not really gotten to explore. He'd adopted Harry at James and Lily's request but had gladly stayed in the role of godfather while his friends had been alive. The guilt that he felt over abandoning his son gnawed at him. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He'd thought he could find Peter, capture or kill the rat, and then fetch Harry from Hagrid once the deed was done.

That... hadn't gone as planned.

It was rash, he knew, but his rage at what had happened had filled him up so thoroughly because of what Peter had done. Peter had been like a brother to them, and yet he'd betrayed them all so much after they'd done for him. It gnawed at Sirius's gut every time he thought about it. It wasn't a happy thought, so the dementors couldn't take it from him. In the decade that he'd been locked up in the bleak cell he'd been forced to call home, Sirius had plotted and planned various ways to escape and wreak his vengeance on the traitorous rat. It was a cold comfort, but again, the dementors couldn't take it away from him.

Shifting into his Animagus form helped as well. The dementors didn't seem to affect him as much when he was Padfoot, as he processed emotions far differently as a Grim than he did a human. He would shift at least once a day, spending an hour or so as a Grim just to keep his sanity. He usually did it at night since there was less chance of a guard randomly passing by and seeing him not in human form and then panicking.

He was laying sprawled out on the floor of his cell, tongue lolling out in an effort to beat the heat, when he felt the presence of the dementors start to fade. Sirius's head shot up immediately at that. It was past sundown and well past the time for the meager dinner that was provided. He shifted back to human form, pushing himself up into a seated position so he could see what was going on.

His long hair hung like a ragged curtain in front of his face, ill-kept and tangled. The only reason he didn't have a matching scraggly beard was because of some simple wandless grooming spells he could still perform. It was the same reason why he didn't have some of the same unfortunate flea and lice infestations as the other prisoners, though that could also be because they couldn't be bothered to cast them without a wand.

Three guards stopped outside of his cell, their Patronuses casting an eerie silver-white light on the bleak black bricks that made up the whole of the prison. With the guards was a face Sirius thought he'd never see again. Amelia Bones stood there, looking quite official in her Ministry uniform. She watched him for a long moment before speaking.

“Get up, Heir Black. Your case has been reviewed and the Wizengamot is demanding you have a trial for your crimes.”

Sirius got to his feet, pushing his hair out of his face.

“About fucking time!”

Two days later, Sirius found himself sitting in the parlor of his grandfather's manor, freshly washed, dried, and being fed. It still felt like a fever dream. Sirius would've sworn that he'd finally gone fully insane and slipped into some sort of delusion, but he would've expected it to be less comfortable and more dreary. He certainly didn't think it would involve him having tea and sandwiches.

His grandfather was watching him with his usual piercing gaze, his fingers curled around his own cup of tea. Arcturus was as impeccably dressed as ever, and his expression gave away nothing. Sirius polished off the last of the sandwich he'd been eating, absently wiping his fingers on one of the napkins that had been provided with the food.

“So,” he began, feeling all of ten years old again, “why did you decide to push for a trial for me after all this time?”

Arcturus set his teacup aside on its matching saucer, the gentle clink of porcelain against porcelain feeling achingly loud to Sirius. He suspected that it would take some time for him to get used to actually being around other people again after so long in near-isolation.

“It came to my attention recently that I had been cursed over a decade ago to ignore the fact that you had never had a trial and to not seek one out for you. I was also being poisoned, but that was more of a recent problem. The goblins were the ones who finally made me aware of what was going on. There are those who have and would continue to benefit from the House of Black being in ruins. The primary line of ascension is nearly extinct and would have become extinct had I been killed and you kept in Azkaban. I have little doubt that you would have conveniently died within the next few years and our House would've died out for good, or so those attempting to wipe it out would have thought.”

Arcturus folded his hands together before continuing on. “Of course, they didn't know that you had adopted the Potter heir by blood and magic. I suspect that was quite the surprise to them when it came out during the will hearings of the late Lord and Lady Potter. Those wills were why we were finally able to get you a trial. We have yet to find Pettigrew, but the goblins are hunting him down. Apparently he's still alive, as his accounts have yet to go dormant due to his death. They haven't been touched in a decade, but the point still stands.”

Sirius felt a lurch of hope in his chest. If Peter was still alive, then that meant justice could be served against him. And if the goblins were the ones hunting him, then that meant Peter had three choices: run, fight, or submit to their justice. Sirius doubted Peter was going to fight or submit to the unique brand of justice the Horde tended to mete out, so running was likely going to be the only option he would take. That wasn't going to win him any friends amongst the Horde, and the goblins were tenacious when it came to hunting down their enemies.

While it wasn't one of the many various scenarios he'd envisioned over the years, Sirius wasn't about to stand in the way of the goblins. He'd happily sit back and let them take care of the rat. He had more pressing matters at hand anyways, ones he should have taken care of a decade ago.

“You mentioned Harry. Where is he? It's almost his birthday, right? Is he safe?”

“He's safe,” Arcturus confirmed. “He's with your cousin Narcissa at Malfoy Manor. He's been in the Magical world for barely five days. Before that, he was with his maternal relatives from what I understand. They... did not treat him kindly. However, the goblins have healed the major issues and there is a plan in place for him to continue getting the care and potions he needs as he grows over the next few months. Speaking of care... You have been invited to his birthday celebration tomorrow evening, but before that happens, you'll be spending some time in the goblins' time dilation chamber. The rate will be one year per hour of outside time that passes, though you won't age due to the enchantments on the chamber. They have graciously allowed the use of the chamber for five hours. The Ministry agreed to pay for it in lieu of monetary compensation for your wrongful imprisonment. While you're in there, you'll be undergoing mind healing and physical healing so that no one can say that you're unfit to take custody of your son. When you see him tomorrow, you'll be on your way to, at least physically and hopefully mentally, being the man you once were.”

Sirius laughed bitterly. “The man I once was was an idiot of the highest order,” he said, “and that won't do Harry any good. I need to be better than what I was once was. I can't be that same idiot, not any more.”

Arcturus gave him an approving look, pride clear in his expression. “That's a good start. I'm sure the mind healers will be glad to hear it.” He picked up his teacup and took a sip of the drink within before lowering it once more. “Now, on to some more... somber news. Due to how long I was under that curse, I had the goblins do a full audit of all of the Family vaults, main and dowry, as well as all of the properties. Your mother passed away six years ago. I know the two of you held little love, if any, for one another-”

Sirius snorted sharply at that. “She hated my _everything_. Regulus was always her favorite since he Sorted properly and joined the Dark Lord.”

“Ah, about that... While Regulus did Sort Slytherin and joined the Dark Lord, he did not die aiding Voldemort's agenda. Instead, he was actively working against the Dark Lord when he died. During the audit of Grimmauld Place, we discovered that Kreacher was still there. He was reluctant at first to speak to me, but once he did, we found out that Regulus had died trying to destroy an Infernal artifact the Dark Lord had created.”

Sirius went still, his surprise getting the better of him. “Reg- Regulus was trying to do good when he died?”

“Yes, he was,” Arcturus said. “The Infernal artifact was confiscated by the goblins as per our agreement. Another was found in Bellatrix's dowry vault, and a third was given to Lucius Malfoy for safekeeping. Lucius has since given it to the goblins. There was a fourth, and I must ask you to put your tea down before I tell you about it.”

Sirius did so, his stomach tightening. “What were these artifacts? And where was the fourth one?”

Arcturus sighed heavily. “Horcruxes. The Dark Lord made Horcruxes, and the fourth one was sealed away in Harry Potter's scar. It was kept at bay by his mother's sacrifice. They found it when they did a cleansing and cursebreaking before he claimed his Heir rings and safely removed and contained it. With four of them now in hand, the goblins have been able to create a way to track the remaining Horcruxes. There are two left. One is near a Mundane town, and one appears to be at Hogwarts. Professor Flitwick has the school's house elves searching all over the castle for anything Infernal. Once they find it, they'll report it to him and then he'll bring it to the bank. They're hoping to have all of them collected before the start of the school year. There's a catch, though.”

Sirius groaned. “Of course there is. What is it now?”

“Harry will have to be the one to destroy them.”

“WHAT?”

“Calm yourself, Sirius,” Arcturus said with a frown. “There's a prophecy regarding the boy. It says that the Dark Lord has to die at Harry's hand or Harry at his. Prophecies are notoriously tricky things. They're not planning on having him duel the Dark Lord or anything rash like that. The goblins have a Fiendfyre furnace they use to destroy particularly cursed objects. Nothing can survive that, not even Horcruxes. Once all the Horcruxes have been collected, they'll be put in a sealed container and all Harry will have to do is put the box within and, for good measure, activate the furnace. That way Voldemort will have been destroyed by his hand twice-over. If any remnant of Voldemort's spirit is lingering on this plane after that, it'll be gone by Samhain without those anchors. Harry won't be in any danger whatsoever, I promise.”

Sirius didn't feel particularly comforted by his grandfather's words, but he couldn't exactly protest against them either. A prophecy.. That explained so much. Why Lily and James had left the war wards of Potter Manor for Godric's Hollow, why they'd been so secretive the last few months of their lives... He sighed before his mind caught on something his grandfather had said.

“Wait, what does Flitwick have to do with all of this?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Besides his connections with the goblins? He was the one to introduce Harry back to the magical world,” Arcturus said, “and he was the one to get the ball rolling on finding him an appropriate place to live as well as encouraging his brethren to get me into the bank. We owe Filius Flitwick quite a bit for what he's done, though I'm sure he'd deny it.”

“What the hell do you get someone who's essentially kicked off saving the world from a dark lord and saved our House from extinction?” Sirius asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Harry's already invited him to his birthday party, so that's a start,” Arcturus said. “We'll owe Filius a boon at the very least, if not a life debt. We'll have to see how the magic manifests itself when I bring it up to him.”

Arcturus finished off his tea, his cup disappearing the moment he put it back on its saucer. “I've also done a little housekeeping when it comes to those who were disowned during the last decade. Those who willingly stood with the Dark Lord have remained excised from the Family magics, but the cases of those who were disowned by their parents simply because they married against their parents' wishes have been reviewed. I've brought back your cousin and her daughter into the Family magics, and I must say, I commend Andromeda for bringing back a gift that was thought to be lost to the family. The Blacks were once well known for our Metamorphmagus abilities. That and our propensity for magical Animagus forms.”

Sirius let out a rough laugh. “Andy was always good at subverting expectations,” he said. “Good. They belong back in the family.” He ran a hand over his face, his exhaustion getting the better of him. “Thanks for the tea and food, but I'm going to go enjoy sleeping in a real bed after a decade of not having one. When is the appointment tomorrow?”

“Eleven in the morning, so there'll be plenty of time for you to change clothes and maybe even get a bit of a hair trim before the party,” Arcturus replied as Sirius got to his feet. Sirius nodded, too tired to really complain. He said his goodbyes and then headed up to the Heir's suite, changing out of his clothes and then flopping onto his bed. It wasn't long before he was fast asleep on top of the covers, snoring gently away.

  


Arcturus Black prided himself on his patience. It was one of the things he was well known for in the Wizengamot and elsewhere. He'd done his best to cultivate that trait from an early age because he honestly couldn't stand most of his peers. That, and it took a great deal of patience to play the long game, be that in politics, business, or revenge. His patience was being tested at the moment, however, by his worry for his grandson. He'd never been pleased with Walburga and Orion being married off to one another, second cousins or not, but the bonding had taken place when he'd been out of the country and unable to protest it.

He wasn't going to complain about getting Sirius out of the pairing, however. Sirius was everything he could ask for in an Heir, and had been ever since he was young. It was why Arcturus had passed over Orion in favor of Sirius when the boy had turned eleven. Orion had not been pleased with that, but Arcturus had refused to listen to his son's whining. Besides, Orion would've seen the power of the Black Family turned to benefit Voldemort, and Arcturus had not been pleased about that prospect at _all_.

Arcturus sighed and then turned another page of his newspaper, a grumble escaping him at seeing yet another excitable article speculating on the return of the Boy-Who-Lived and what he would be like. Plans had been set into motion that would see use of that morbid epithet be banned from any sort of news medium, be that print or by the Wireless, as well as efforts to reveal the truth behind the series of 'adventure' books touted as true accounts of Harry's young life.

The law firm that the Black Family had held on retainer for the past two centuries had been fired and a new one hired when they'd refused to listen to Arcturus when he'd gone to them to be Sirius's legal defense. He was much more content with the new firm he'd hired, especially as they'd been able to badger the Ministry into paying for Sirius's health care, both mental and physical. The Ministry had been rather reluctant not to just throw money at Sirius in recompense, but in the end the lawyers had convinced those in charge that looking like they actually cared about Sirius's well-being was better than just appearing to pay him off.

Arcturus checked his watch, straightening his posture some when he realized what time it was. He folded his newspaper up neatly and then got to his feet, his attention focused on the heavy steel door that looked like it would be more fit guarding one of the vaults deep in the tunnels below rather than the time dilation chamber. Right at four in the afternoon, the heavy door unlocked and then slowly slid to one side, revealing the deceptively spacious interior beyond.

Sirius stood waiting on the other side, dressed in simple gray robes. He looked leagues better than he had when he'd entered the chamber some four hours prior. His eyes weren't as shadowed by his time in Azkaban, and he had lost the near-skeletal look the prison had given him. Even with all the mental and physical healing available, it was likely that Sirius would carry remnants of his time in Azkaban throughout the rest of his life, but the certification from the various Ministry- and Horde-approved healers who had worked with him in the chamber would see that he could take custody of Harry without complaint- or at least, any complaints that would actually be deemed valid.

Sirius exited the chamber and then went straight for a hug, Arcturus gladly embracing him. As they hugged, Arcturus could feel the Family magic surge between them, rejoicing in Sirius's renewed health just as much as they were. They parted after a much needed pause, Sirius smiling happily at his grandfather.

“Have a fun time waiting for me?”

“Not particularly, but I certainly can't complain about the courtesy of our hosts. I was well-supplied with refreshments as needed, though I could have done without the drivel of the _Prophet_ ,” Arcturus grumbled. Sirius let out a laugh at that.

“There's not much I can do about that except maybe suggest you buy the paper outright and then enforce actual journalistic standards and a code of ethics,” he said with a shrug. “Certainly wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to the paper.”

Arcturus made a thoughtful noise. “You have a point. That, however, can wait. For now, we need to get you presentable enough to go to a young heir's birthday party.”

The two of them returned to Ravenswood Keep, the wards of the ancestral seat of the Black Family and the Earl of Ravenswood all but singing in welcome as the two wizards stepped out of the Floo. One of the house elves assisted Sirius in getting ready, making sure his hair was trimmed neatly- though still long enough to pull back if he wanted to do so, which he had – and his semi-formal robes ready for wearing. Arcturus had the sneaking suspicion that the elf- a younger member of the staff by the name of Jasper -would be soon requesting to bond solely to Sirius as his personal elf rather than just as a Family elf.

Arcturus had asked Kreacher if he'd wanted to become Sirius's personal elf but Kreacher had declined, preferring instead to remain as a Family-bound elf and stay at Grimmauld Place to help the other elves restore it to its former glory. The discovery of the damaged Family tapestry had irked Arcturus to no end, but thankfully there was a master weaver in India who had been able to mostly restore it to its former glory, even if not all the colors matched perfectly. The tapestry now had a place of pride at Ravenswood Keep in one of the portrait halls, as Arcturus wasn't about to let such a vital piece of his family's history molder away unnecessarily.

Once Sirius was ready, he and Arcturus departed for Malfoy Manor, Sirius holding Harry's neatly wrapped gift close to him as they Flooed over. The gift wasn't particularly extravagant- a set of beginner's guides for each First Year core subject -but it was useful nonetheless. Sirius had wanted to get him a broom, but Arcturus had put his foot down on that, saying it better to not look like he was trying to buy Harry's affection. That had gotten Sirius to back down rather quickly, and while Arcturus hadn't been happy about having to even insinuate the matter, it was still a valid point regardless.

The guides were a good compromise, as they weren't on the standard book list- though really they should have been -but also weren't unavailable to others either. The books had been wrapped in dark red paper with a tasteful gold ribbon as it was traditional to wrap an heir's birthday presents in their paternal House's colors for their eleventh birthdays. The smaller dining room of Malfoy Manor had been decorated in the traditional blue, green, red, and gold braided streamers representing the four Hogwarts Houses.

The house elves had gone all out to make sure the decorations were up to par with the standards Narcissa had set while still not being overwhelming for Harry, who was decidedly not used to such a fuss being made over him in general, and especially not for his birthday. Arcturus stayed in the background as he and Sirius entered the dining room, watching how his grandson and great-grandson would get on. Sirius set Harry's gift down on the table with the others before cautiously approaching the birthday boy under the watchful eye of the others.

“Hi,” he said softly, smiling hopefully at Harry. “I'm Sirius, your godfather.”

“And dad,” Harry added with a shy expression. Sirius's face flashed through several different emotions all at once.

“You... you'd want to call me that?”

“If you want. You adopted me when I was a baby, right?”

Sirius nodded. “Y-yeah. Your mom and dad wanted me to be able to make sure you were taken care of if something happened to them.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I'm sorry I wasn't there for you for all this time.”

Harry shook his head. “It's not your fault. You couldn't take care of me from prison. And I'm a lot better now, so you don't need to worry about that either.”

“I think I'll be worrying about a lot of things for quite some time,” Sirius told him.

“That's called being a parent, Sirius,” Narcissa teased lightly. “It's a natural reaction.”

“If you say so.” Sirius went to one knee before Harry. “May I have a hug? If you're alright with that, that is.”

Harry smiled before stepping in and wrapping his arms around Sirius's torso, tucking himself in against his dad. Sirius returned the hug, resting a hand lightly against Harry's back. Arcturus smiled to himself, pleased that everything seemed to be going well. The party stretched on for several more hours, only stopping when it was Harry and Draco's bedtime. The adults said their goodnights to the two boys, Arcturus watching as Draco led Harry upstairs while the elves popped Harry's presents away to his room.

As soon as the adults were truly alone, Arcturus turned to Filius, who had been watching the party from the sidelines. He'd kept his distance as he hadn't wanted to show favoritism, even if Harry wasn't technically one of his students yet. He'd made sure to wish Harry a happy birthday, however, and Harry had quite happily thanked him. Arcturus stepped forward and then, to the shock of the others in the room save for Sirius, went to one knee before the Charms professor, Sirius following suit not long after.

“Filius Flitwick, the House of Black owes you a great debt,” Arcturus said, his head bowed. “You helped to free its Heir from imprisonment, a secondary Heir from his abusers, and its Head from a sure death. We call upon Lady Magic to be the final arbiter and decide what form the payment for this debt shall take.”

As Arcturus spoke, the air grew heavy and thick with the weight of magic until it was almost unbearable. The others watched with wide eyes as Filius hesitated and then reached out to place one hand on the top of Arcturus's head and the other on Sirius's. He took a deep breath in, releasing it slowly before speaking. His voice was distant and echoing, as if something- or someone -was speaking through him.

“ _Head and Heir of the House of Black, the debt due is threefold: First, rid the world of the one who dares to call himself the Lord of the Dark. Second, end the rule of the one who calls himself the leader of the Light. Neither are My chosen. Third, protect the Lord of Lions and Lady of Autumn, for their survival and happiness are paramount to My survival. Count the children of stone as your allies and enforce My will. This is the price to be paid._ ”

Filius' eyes fluttered rapidly before he swayed on the spot. He would've collapsed if not for Sirius's quick thinking, which saw him guiding his former professor to sit on a nearby chair. One of the elves brought a cup of hot chocolate for Filius to sip on. He drank it slowly, the trembling in his hands eventually fading as time passed.

“How are you feeling?” Sirius asked, brow furrowed in worry. “Sorry about that. We weren't expecting it to be that intense.”

Filius shook his head. “No need to apologize. I'm doing alright now. A little warning would've been nice, but I certainly won't complain that the Lady saw me as a fit vessel for Her to speak through. It's not every day you can say something like that has happened to you.”

“Decidedly not,” Lucius agreed. “Word of what has happened here won't leave this room. I can guess who the first two parts of the debt are referring to, as well as part of the third, but who is this Lady of Autumn that was mentioned?”

“Whoever she is, we'll have to keep a close eye out for her,” Arcturus replied as he got to his feet, grimacing slightly when his knees creaked in protest. “Let's just hope it's obvious who it is.”

“Likely someone who'll have a close connection with Harry,” Narcissa suggested. “We can only speculate what her role in his life will be, but more than likely something very important.”

“Dumbledore can _never_ know about this.”

Narcissa turned to look at Sirius, surprise on her face. “I thought you were a supporter of Dumbledore?”

Sirius shook his head. “Not since he knowingly left me to rot in Azkaban. He was the one who acted as binder for the Fidelius. He _knew_ I was innocent and didn't say anything for a decade. Do you know the reason he gave me when I asked why he hadn't come forward to demand my trial after everything happened?”

Narcissa shook her head. The trial Sirius had gotten had been a closed one, with only the sitting Lords and Ladies on the Wizengamot being allowed to attend.

“He told me that it was for the Greater Good, and that Harry would have been in danger if he hadn't grown up away from magic.” Sirius scoffed at that. “I think Dumbledore just wanted absolute control over everything.” He glanced at Filius. “No, uh, no offense meant, Professor.”

Filius shook his head. “Believe me, there was a time when I would have taken offense, but not today, not now. I once trusted Albus to have the best intentions, but his actions have betrayed that trust thoroughly.”

He finished off his hot chocolate and then set the cup aside. “I agree with you. Albus clearly did not have your or Harry's best intentions in mind back then, and he certainly doesn't have it now. I won't breathe a word of what happened tonight to him. My ancestry offers me natural mental protections, and I suspect the Lady Herself will help in guarding the information in all of our minds.”

He got up and dusted himself off. “I'm sure my brethren at the bank will be in touch once the last of the artifacts outside the one at Hogwarts has been found. The house elves are still searching for that one, but I have every faith that they'll locate it soon enough.”

“Good. That will help with the first debt being fulfilled,” Arcturus said. “Thank you for coming tonight, Filius. It means a lot to us.”

Filius smiled. “Clearly it was meant to be, especially given what happened. I'll bid you goodnight and well wishes. Hopefully we'll see one another before the school year start, but if we don't, just know that you're always welcome to Floo call me or owl me.”

“Thank you. We'll certainly keep that in mind,” Sirius replied. “Safe travels, Professor, and may the Lady be with you.”

“Have a good night, and thank you.”

Filius left after that, one of the house elves guiding him to the Floo room. Sirius and Arcturus followed soon after, returning to Ravenswood Keep for the night.

Over the next three weeks, the last two Horcruxes were located and brought to the goblins for safe keeping. As soon as everything was ready, Harry went with Sirius and Narcissa to the bank. The Horcruxes were sealed in a heavily warded chest that the goblins had Harry carry to the room where the Fiendfyre furnace sat. He carefully put the chest in the small chamber in the furnace and then retreated to the control room. Just to make doubly sure that the prophecy was fulfilled properly, Harry was the one who pressed the button to activate the furnace, thereby killing Voldemort by his hand twice over.

A runner met them outside the furnace room a few minutes after the screaming of the Horcruxes had stopped echoing off the walls, a scroll in hand. Goldfang took it from the runner and then opened it, a toothy grin appearing as they reached the end of the scroll.

“Well, it's official. Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord Voldemort, is dead, according to our records. Any assets he may have had in the bank have been frozen. The Horde will reinvest his monetary assets and liquidate any remaining physical assets,” Goldfang announced. “As his vanquisher, ten percent of those assets will be awarded to the House of Potter, and five percent to the House of Black and the Clans of Flitwick and Steelsword for their participation in this endeavor.”

A thoughtful expression passed across Sirius's face before it morphed into one of mischievous glee. “Goldfang, I have an idea that will more than likely tweak Dumbledore's over-long nose,” he said. “Think you can help?”

“Heir Black, it would be my honor.”

  


Albus Dumbledore liked to consider himself a calm man. He liked his routines, certainly, but he also prided himself on being adaptable. So to say that what he saw in the newspaper that late August morning threw him off his stride would be underselling it. It was a small thing, to be certainly, and most would've just glanced over it, but Albus couldn't help but stare at the short announcement on the obituaries page that was buried two-thirds of the way into the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle, age 65, was declared dead as of four-thirty PM on 26 August, 1991. He leaves no survivors and is preceded in death by his mother, Merope Riddle. As per his wishes, no services have been held._

Albus read the announcement at least four times before swiftly folding up the newspaper, setting it aside, and then getting to his feet. He'd been taking his breakfast in his private quarters that morning, as was his habit during the summer, so there was no one to see him hurriedly perform a Switching Spell and exchange his nightclothes for a set of robes in vibrant sunflower yellow and his slippers for boots. He left the castle via Floo, not bothering to stop and tell anyone that he was leaving. He trusted his staff, after all, and they could deal without him for a little while.

He emerged from the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron, making his way through the crowded pub and out onto the Alley with barely his customary nod or other greetings to its patrons. The Alley was equally as crowded, as many of the shoppers there were school-aged witches and wizards and their parents or guardians. Albus paid them little mind, his long legs taking him through the crowd with ease. People parted before him as he made his way to the offices of the _Daily Prophet._

Albus entered the building where the _Prophet_ was housed, breezing past the desks of the journalists and heading straight for the office where the editor-in-chief, Barnabas Cuffe, usually resided while the offices were open. Barnabas looked up from where he was looking over some of the articles for the next day's edition of the paper at Albus's entrance, surprise flashing across his face.

“Headmaster Dumbledore. What can I do to help you?”

“There was an obituary printed in this morning's paper,” Albus began. “I need to know who submitted it.”

Barnabas frowned. “We don't usually give away the names of the particular people in question when it comes to obituaries. Usually it's the executor of the estate or the next of kin.” He set his quill down in its holder. “However... Since it's you... Which, uh, which obituary was in question?”

“The one regarding Tom Marvolo Riddle.” Albus flicked his wand to close the door behind him and then took a seat in the chair across from Barnabas. “It's very important that I know who submitted it.”

Barnabas shuffled through some of the parchment on his desk before coming up with one piece in particular. “Ah, here we are. Looks like it was Gringotts. They do that on occasion when there's not any surviving members of a family to put in the announcement.”

Albus took the parchment from Barnabas and looked it over, eyes narrowing behind his half-moon glasses as he read. It _seemed_ legitimate, but there was only one way to find out. Albus returned the parchment to Barnabas and then left the office, not bothering to say goodbye. He went back to the Leaky Cauldron and used the Floo there to head to the Ministry, barely pausing as he exited the Floo and swept the ash off himself in a show of wandless magic. He didn't even stop to get his wand checked, but then again, that hadn't happened ever since he'd won the Elder Wand from Gellert.

The elevator swiftly took Albus down to the Department of Mysteries due to his overriding the controls with a flick of the Elder Wand. He left the elevator once it reached the ninth floor and made his way to the Department of Mysteries. Barely five minutes after he'd arrived, he was standing in front of a particular orb in row 97. Albus ran his hands over his beard as he contemplated the dark orb.

So... Voldemort was well and truly dead, and since the prophecy orb was dark, that meant it was complete. The only question was, how long had the orb been dark? He hadn't checked on it since that fateful day over a decade ago, which admittedly was his own fault. He should have been keeping a closer eye on the damn thing, not to mention the Potter boy.

According to Albus's sources in the Ministry, Sirius had not yet petitioned to take custody of Harry from his aunt and uncle, but Albus knew it was only a matter of time. He'd quietly pushed for the Ministry to pay Sirius the debt they owed him rather than paying for the mind healing, but no one had listened to him. Now the foolish man was healthier than Albus would have preferred, both mentally and physically, not to mention he seemed to be willingly spending time with his grandfather. Given Sirius's tumultuous past with his family, it had been quite surprising, to say the least, but Albus didn't dwell on that.

No, he had more important things to deal with, starting with checking on the state of Quirinus Quirrell. Merlin damn it, he'd probably have to scramble to replace the man, and so soon before the school year began as well. He'd likely either be dead, insane, or entirely absent by the time Albus got back to Hogwarts. He hadn't seen Quirinus since a few days ago but that didn't exactly mean much since it was still summer.

Albus sighed and then left the Hall of Prophecies, his mind churning. He would have to revamp his plans, and quickly. Otherwise, who knew what the Magical World might become?


	5. Chapter Four

Harry was excited. So excited, in fact, that he woke up before the sun truly rose on September First. He filled some of the time until it was a reasonable hour for breakfast and waking the others- he and Sirius were spending the night at Malfoy Manor so they and the Malfoys could leave for the station together -by double-and triple-checking his trunk and making sure he had everything. Koko had helped him pack the previous night, but Harry didn’t want to leave anything behind.

Harry ran his fingers over the dimensional store that was clasped around his right wrist, his fingertips gliding over the griffin that was engraved into the lightweight mithril. It had belonged to his grandfather Charles Potter, according to the vault log, and Harry felt honored that he could wear something his grandfather had when he was his age. The magic of the store would ensure that it would resize as he grew, making sure he could use it for years if he wanted to. Harry had already bonded his wand to it and stored some of his more important belongings there, as well as some less essential things, like snacks for both himself and Whisper.

His familiar was still asleep, curled up in the elaborate enclosure the elves had prepared for him. A smaller version of the enclosure would be set up at Hogwarts once Harry had been Sorted into his House and had his room assigned to him. Regardless of what House he was Sorted into, Harry would have the choice to be given his own room as he was the future Earl of Gryffindor. His father had decided not to have his own room, instead being roomed with Remus, Sirius, and Peter for the next seven years.

Harry hadn't decided what he wanted, but he supposed it would depend on where he was Sorted and if he made any friends on the train ride, He was hoping he would make friends outside of Draco. He liked his cousin quite a bit, especially now that he'd gotten to know him better and Draco had relaxed his Pureblood mask some around him. Harry sat back on his heels, staring down at the neatly organized interior of his trunk. He couldn't do anything more with it, so it was time to close it and shrink it down to its smallest size.

He shut the lid of the trunk and then pushed a bit of magic into the set of runes carved into the trunk. The trunk shrunk to something that could be found in a dollhouse. Harry put the trunk into a pocket of his robe and then went to go wake Whisper up.

~ _Hey. Hey Whisper. It's time to get up,_ ~ he said. ~ _We're going to Hogwarts today!_ ~

Whisper stirred, poking his head out of his coils to stare at Harry. ~ _Hogwarts? You mean that giant stone nest you've been telling me about?_ ~

~ _Yes, it is. We'll be taking the train there. It may be a little noisy, but you can just sleep if you want. I'm not going to force you to interact with anyone if you don't want to._ ~

Whisper considered that. ~ _You owe me an extra egg if you want me to come with you on the noisy thing,_ ~ he decided. ~ _Otherwise, you can send me with one of the squeaky ones and they can take me to my new territory there._ ~

~ _Greedy-guts,_ ~ Harry said with a laugh as he took Whisper out of his enclosure and then draped him around his neck. Whisper flicked his tongue at him, scenting Harry's sleep-warm skin before settling back down. Harry made sure Whisper wasn't going to move before leaving his room. He nearly ran into Draco in the hall, his cousin looking bleary-eyed but still awake. Harry grinned at him, stifling a laugh behind a hand.

“Not quite awake yet, Malfoy?” he teased, keeping his voice down. Draco huffed quietly.

“Shut it, Potter.”

Harry's grin grew at the grumpy tone to Draco's voice. “Never. Dobby wake you up?”

Draco yawned, halfheartedly covering his mouth with his hand as he nodded. “Y-yeah. He's very eager. Apparently he hasn't been to Hogwarts since my great-aunt's time.”

Harry thought he'd stop being surprised at learning new things about the magical world, but apparently not. “He's that old?”

“Mm. Dobby's been with the Malfoy family for two hundred years. He's still pretty young for a house elf.”

“Huh. I wonder how old Koko and Lulu are,” Harry mused as the two of them made their way down to the informal dining room so they could get breakfast. Draco shrugged.

“At least fifty years old. That's when house elves usually begin being drawn to a compatible Family's magic. The Family has to be at least an Ancient one, so around for five generations at the very least,” he explained. “Take House Weasley, for example. They're technically an Ancient House, but Arthur Weasley hasn't drawn any house elves to it yet for some reason.”

“Maybe he doesn't want them?” Harry suggested. Draco snorted sharply.

“They could use at least one,” he said. “Arthur Weasley and his family live in a cramped house that's held together more by magic than nails and boards.”

“Maybe they like it that way,” Harry said as they reached the informal dining room. “Not everyone wants to or even can live in a manor like us.”

Draco considered that. “I guess, but I don't know. Even if they didn't have a manor, you'd think they'd at least want a physically stable house.”

Harry shrugged as he sat down, a glass of orange juice and bowls of fresh fruit and oatmeal appearing in front of him, as well as his morning dose of potions. He downed the potions first, wrinkling his nose before popping a piece of watermelon into his mouth to wash away the taste. He savored the fruit, still not entirely used to having such healthy and plentiful options available to him. Harry hoped the food at Hogwarts would be as good and varied. According to Sirius, the food there was amazing, but Harry was going to make his own determination on that once he got there.

Draco sat down across from him, tucking into his own breakfast that the house elves had made. The adults joined them when the two boys were about halfway done with their food, Lucius and Narcissa looked as put-together as always, but Sirius still seemed to be half-awake. Harry smirked at his dad, amused at Sirius's sleepy expression. It got better after Sirius had some coffee, though it was more milk than coffee once he'd finished doctoring it.

The five of them left for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at half-past ten so Harry and Draco could get situated on the train in plenty of time. They took the Floo, Sirius bringing up the rear. He still felt wary around large amounts of people, so the less time he actually spent on the crowded platform, the better.

Once Harry and Draco had claimed a compartment near the middle of the train, they went to say goodbye to their parents. Sirius pressed a small paper-wrapped parcel into Harry's hand. Harry looked down at it and then up at his dad, brow furrowed in confusion.

“What is this?”

Sirius stuck his hands in his pockets, a small smile curving his lips. “A way to contact me if you want,” he said. “It's a communications mirror. I've given ones to the others as well. It's a secure way to talk without worrying about letters going astray or Floo calls.”

“Huh. Useful.”

“Yeah. We used to use them in school to help plan pranks,” Sirius said, his smile broadening. “You might want to hold off on that for a little bit while you settle in.”

Harry rolled his eyes at that. “I'm not going to go looking for trouble, Dad. All I want to do is learn magic and get through school.”

“Merlin, kid, if you're not in Ravenclaw, I'll eat my own hat,” Sirius told him with a laugh. “You might look like James a lot, but you remind me so much of your mother at times.”

Harry was pleased by that. He'd seen the wedding portrait of his parents and had even talked with it. He could definitely see why people said he looked a lot like James. They had similar facial features, though Harry definitely took after his mother's height at this age, and, of course, he had her eyes. Still, it was nice to know that he resembled them in more than just superficial looks, though he doubted he'd ever want to continue James's habit of pranking people. Sirius had told him stories about their time at Hogwarts, and while some of the things had sounded funny, a lot of it had also sounded like bullying, especially towards the Slytherins.

Thanks to the ongoing weekly visits to a private mind healer, Sirius had gotten over a lot of things from his childhood, though he still carried some enmity towards certain people, Severus Snape included. Much like with the food at Hogwarts, Harry was going to wait on making any sort of judgment towards Snape until he'd actually met the man and gotten to know him. According to Draco, Snape was a highly talented Potions Master and the resident (and sole) Potions teacher at Hogwarts.

Harry thought it odd that there was only one teacher per subject. He was used to there being multiple teachers for the same subject, albeit at different grade levels, and was dubious that the teachers could be effective when teaching for so many different skill levels across four Houses. Still, it was possible that, given the fact that magic existed, grading was a lot easier and therefore the teachers had more time to make comprehensive lesson plans for each year level.

Regardless of how it was done, Harry was very glad for the subject guides Sirius had gotten him for his birthday. The one for Potions had moving diagrams of the different ways to chop, cut, slice, and dice various ingredients. While Harry was familiar with them due to his knowledge of cooking, there were still some differences to the techniques in the book that promised to provide the best results. He was excited to see just what could be done with Potions beyond what he'd already experienced, and if he had an ulterior motive to ask why potions couldn't be flavored nicely, then so be it.

He bid Sirius, Lucius, and Narcissa goodbye, as did Draco, giving out one last round of hugs before boarding the train and returning to the compartment they'd claimed. Harry watched out the window as the other students began boarding as well, steam starting to wreathe the platform as the trained warmed up. A swarm of redheads entered through the hidden entrance out in the Mundane side of the platform, four of them breaking away from the group and hurrying on to the train, their trunks floating haphazardly along behind them.

Harry waved goodbye to Sirius one more time, earning a disgruntled hiss from Whisper at the jostling, and then settled down in his seat as the train began to slowly pull away from the station. About ten minutes into the ride, there was a knock at the compartment door. Draco, who was closer to it, got up and opened it, revealing a round-faced boy on the other side. The newcomer looked tearful as he glanced into the compartment, seeming to look for someone or something.

“Heir Longbottom,” Draco said, looking startled by the other boy's current state of being. “Is everything alright?”

“H-have you seen a t-toad? Mine's gone m-missing.”

“We haven't, but you're welcome to look in here,” Draco replied, taking a step back and moving to one side. “Heir Neville Longbottom, this is Heir Harry Potter-Black, my cousin. Harry, this is Heir Neville Longbottom, one of our year-mates.”

Harry smiled warmly at Neville as he got to his feet. “It's great to meet you, Heir Longbottom. Feel free to call me Harry. My dad mentioned you. He said your mum was my godmother.” He held out his hand for Neville to shake. “I already have a good cousin, but I've never had a godbrother. I'd be honored if we could be friends at the very least.”

Neville gave him a wide-eyed look, clearly not expecting the offer. “I- Y-yeah, alright. You c-can call me Neville. Um, are you sure you want to be my friend?”

“Of course,” Harry said as Neville shook his hand. “I can always use another friend, and I'm sure you'll be a great one. Now, you mentioned your toad?”

“My Uncle Algie got him for me.” Neville startled when he saw Whisper lift his head and scent the air with his tongue. “You have a _snake_?”

“This is Whisper, my familiar,” Harry said, gently pulling Whisper off his neck and showing him to Neville. “He's an egg-eating snake, so he wouldn't have done anything to your toad, but he might be able to track his scent.”

~ _Bah. Don't make promises for me. The smelly toad is not in this den,~_ Whisper grumbled. ~ _An older mage could probably Summon him like your sire does his cloak, yes?_ ~

~ _That's a great idea. I didn't even think of that. Thanks, Whisper,_ ~ Harry hissed back, running his fingers lightly over his familiar's back. He looked up at Neville's gasp of surprise. The other boy seemed so nervous about everything, something that had Harry curious. Maybe that was just how he was?

“Everything okay?”

“Th-the _Quibbler_ wasn't just making things up, then? You can really talk to snakes?” Neville asked.

“Yep! I'm a true Parselmage. Apparently it runs in the Gryffindor line, though it can skip generations. My great-grandfather Dorian was a Parselmage too, according to our Family history,” Harry informed him. Neville relaxed greatly at that, though Harry wasn't exactly sure why initially. The longer he thought about it though, the more he came to the conclusion that Neville must've thought it was some sort of remnant from Voldemort.

“Um, anyways, Whisper says that one of the older students could probably Summon your toad for you,” Harry continued on, putting Whisper back around his neck. “It'd be easier to find it that way.”

Neville perked up at that. “I saw some sixth years a few compartments back. Maybe they can help,” he said.

“I can come with you,” Harry offered. “Draco too, if he wants. It'd be nice to explore a bit before everyone starts moving around.”

“I'll stay here and keep our compartment,” Draco said as he returned to his seat and the new comic book he'd gotten for the train ride, “but you two have fun.”

Harry left the compartment with Neville, closing the door behind the two of them. He trusted Whisper when he'd said that he hadn't scented Neville's toad in the compartment, but it never hurt to make sure it couldn't escape just in case. Neville led him to the compartment where he'd seen the sixth years, and after a short conversation with them, one of them performed a Summoning Charm. It took a moment or two for the charm to catch, but soon enough Trevor the toad was floating into the compartment, croaking indignantly as he did so.

Neville caught hold of him, shooting the older students a grateful smile. “Thanks. I'm going to go put him back in his habitat. I don't even know how he got out.”

The habitat turned out to be back in Neville's original compartment. Harry helped open the door for Neville since he had his hands full with Trevor. Neville went into the compartment and secured Trevor in his traveling habitat, double- and triple-checking that the lid was secured as tightly as possible. Neville sat back on his heels, a triumphant smile brightening his face.

“Thanks for all of that,” he said. “There was someone else who was helping me too, but I don't know where she-”

“Oh, Neville, you found him! That's wonderful!”

Harry turned, startled by the way his magic had reacted to the newcomer's presence. It had felt like his magic had recognized an old and familiar friend, which was strange considering Harry was pretty sure he'd never met the girl standing in the doorway before. She had flyaway hair that nonetheless framed her face perfectly, and her pleased smile illuminated her features.

Neville glanced over at her, an answering but far more shy smile on his face. “Yes, I did. Harry here had the brilliant idea of having one of the older students Summon Trevor. I don't know where he was hiding, but he's back and that's all that matters.”

The girl turned her attention to Harry, who quickly did his best to regain his composure and sketched out a quick bow like he'd been taught in his etiquette lessons when meeting an unknown female-presenting person of his age. “It's a pleasure to meet a friend of Neville's. I'm Heir Harry Potter-Black, but you can just call me Harry. Actually, _please_ just call me Harry. It's- I'd rather not be too formal, you know?”

The girl blinked at him in surprise and then let out an amused laugh. “You just _bowed_ to me. Me! How is that not formal?”

“Look, you're not wrong, but I'm doing my best here not to annoy the wrong people,” Harry said, at a loss for words. Neville watched the two of them interact, a highly amused look passing across his face before he quickly wiped it away at Harry's short glare. Harry pointed at him. “No comments from the peanut gallery.”

“From the what?”

“The peanut gallery. It used to be some of the cheapest seats in a theater, and therefore it often attracted the most... vocal people. It-” The girl paused when she saw Harry and Neville were actually paying attention to her. “Sorry. I tend to ramble if allowed. I'm Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Hermione,” Harry said. “Would you and Neville like to join my cousin and me in our compartment? It'd be nice to have some friends in there for the ride.”

The way Hermione lit up at the suggestion had Harry thinking that she, like him, wasn't exactly used to having many people she could call friends. After a quick discussion of the logistics on how to move their luggage, Harry suggest that he could just go get Draco and have him move there since their trunks were shrunken and easy to move. It didn't take long to get Draco to come join them, though he did warn that he might go in search of other people during the ride.

Harry didn't mind, as he was well aware that his cousin had friends of his own and wasn't going to begrudge him that. They got into a spirited discussion of what Houses they might want to Sort into at School, Neville lamenting that his grandmother would be very disappointed if he didn't get into Gryffindor.

“My mom and dad were in Gryffindor, you see, and Gran wants me to follow in their footsteps,” he explained.

Harry hummed, idly stroking his fingers over Whisper's scales. “The way I see it, we're our own people, not our parents. My parents were in Gryffindor as well, but I don't think I'm really all that suited for it. My dad says that it's usually pretty loud and rambunctious, and I don't know if I really want to deal with that for seven years. I'd prefer peace and quiet, y'know? And Gryffindors are apparently trouble magnets, and I _definitely_ don't want to have to deal with that. Besides, just because your parents went into Gryffindor doesn't mean you have to. You're your own person, and they already had their time at Hogwarts. This is our time.”

“Besides, your grandmother Sorted to Ravenclaw, so she can't really talk,” Draco pointed out. He shrugged when Neville looked at him in surprise. “My dad made sure I knew all of my peers' parents or guardian's Houses and alignments.”

“Ugh, politics,” Harry said with a wrinkled nose, making Hermione giggle. “We're _eleven._ I don't want to worry about politics.”

“Hogwarts is where it all starts,” Draco retorted. “What allies and enemies you make there will likely follow you into the rest of our lives.”

“That seems... How do you know the right people to pick as friends?” Hermione asked.

“Trial and error, like everything else,” Harry replied. “Let's deal with politics later, though. What House would you want to Sort into, Hermione?”

“Well, I was considering Gryffindor because that's where Headmaster Dumbledore was Sorted-” She paused at the look of annoyance that flashed across Harry and Draco's faces. “Is... is something wrong?”

“Let's just say we're not fond of the Headmaster and leave it at that for now,” Draco said. “Go on.”

“Right. Um, anyways, I was considering Gryffindor, but honestly Ravenclaw sounds like a better fit to me,” Hermione continued on. “I don't think I would like to be somewhere constantly noisy and busy. I prefer the quiet most of the time.”

“Me too.” Neville sighed. “Gryffindor would be nice, I guess, but I might be suited to Hufflepuff all things considered.”

“That's perfectly fine,” Harry told him, quickly cutting off Draco's expected snide comment about Hufflepuffs being idiots. “There's nothing wrong about being known as loyal, steadfast, and just. I think that sounds like a great thing. I'd rather that then being known as brave and brash. Besides, I bet you could get away with a lot more if people underestimate you.”

“Why, Harry, that's positively Slytherin of you,” Draco joked. Harry grinned at his cousin.

“Thank you!”

“I heard a lot of people say that all Slytherins were...” Hermione trailed off, shoulders hunching uncomfortably. “Well, it wasn't exactly favorable.”

“Let me guess, all Slytherins are evil and followers of the ex-Dark Lord?” Draco asked, his voice Sahara-dry. He scoffed. “Honestly, that's just stereotyping.”

“Like how people say all Hufflepuffs are dumb and stupid?” Neville retorted. Draco opened his mouth, closed it, and then huffed.

“I _guess,_ ” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Anyways, there have been plenty of Slytherins who didn't follow that idiot, both before and after the war. Merlin was supposed to have been a Slytherin, even if the timelines doesn't exactly line up, and no one's saying _he's_ evil. There was also Richard Stevens. He was one of the best Ministers of Magic the British Magical World has seen, and he was a Slytherin. Margaret MacDougal was a well-known Head Healer for Saint Mungo's and she was a Slytherin. Stevens was before the Dark Idiot and MacDougal after. Long story short, just because someone belongs or belongs to a certain school House doesn't make them any worse or better than you.”

“Same goes for parentage.” Harry nudged Draco with an elbow. Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Yes, yes, whatever.”

“If anyone tells you anything different, ignore them,” Harry said firmly. “I'm technically considered a half-blood myself, since my mum was a Mundaneborn and my father a Pureblood.”

“Mundaneborn?” Hermione looked puzzled. “Not Muggleborn?”

Harry ran a hand over his face. “Calling someone a Muggle seems pretty rude, y'know? It doesn't really describe _why_ we're different from people that don't have magic, just that we are. Mundane, on the other hand, pretty neatly sums up that reason while not being rude about it.”

“Oh!” Hermione thought that over. “I like it. I'll have to try to use that instead of Muggleborn and Muggles. You're right, it _does_ sound better. I'd never really thought of it like that.”

“Most don't. You'll hear a lot of people still using Muggle and Muggleborn, but thankfully it's starting to be phased out more,” Harry said. “I'm guessing you're Mundaneborn?”

“I'm the first in my family to have magic as far as we know, yes,” Hermione confirmed.

“Draco and I are both Purebloods,” Neville said. “That means we have magical parents and grandparents.”

“Alright, that makes sense, though Pureblood is... not that great,” Hermione said. “Just saying.”

“I'm not sure what else we would call it,” Draco said, “but maybe we can come up with something different some day.”

If we're the future, we-” Harry was interrupted by the compartment door sliding abruptly open, revealing a lanky redheaded boy with what looked like a smudge of dirt on his nose. He looked around the compartment, his gaze automatically skipping over Draco, Neville, and Hermione to fix on Harry.

“Is it true that you're Harry Potter? They're saying all up and down the train that Harry Potter is in this compartment.”

Harry frowned. “Who's saying that?” he asked. “I haven't told anyone who I am besides the people in this compartment.” He narrowed his eyes.. “Have you been going from compartment to compartment trying to find me? Who _are_ you?”

“One of the Weasleys, judging from the hand-me-down clothes and red hair,” Draco drawled. “The one in our year is Ronald, I believe.”

“Draco, we've talked about this before. Hand-me-downs aren't a bad thing,” Harry said with a sigh. He returned his focus to Ronald. “What can I help you with, Weasley?”

“Why are you hanging out with these losers?” Ron asked. “A slimy snake, a squib, and... Whoever that is.”

“These 'losers' are my friends,” Harry said tersely, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don't need any 'friends' who are only interested in being my friend just because I'm famous for something I couldn't control.”

Ron glared at him before turning and leaving with a huff, nearly running into the snack trolley lady. He dodged around her before disappearing. The trolley lady poked her head in the compartment.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?”

Harry got up and went to investigate what was on offer, eventually coming away with a few Chocolate Frogs and a sleeve of soft chocolate chip cookies that claimed to taste and feel like they'd just come out of a warm oven once the packet was opened. Draco and Neville picked some snacks of their own, paying the trolley lady before returning to their seats.

“Not getting anything?”

Hermione shook her head in response to the trolley lady's question. “No, thank you.”

“Alright. We'll be at Hogwarts in a few hours.” The trolley lady continued on down the train, leaving the door open. Neville got up and shut the door, wishing he knew any locking spells. He flopped back down in his seat and picked up his packet of licorice wands.

“So... what kinds of wands do you have?” he asked idly as he opened his candy. “I have my dad's old wand.”

Draco frowned. “You don't have your own wand?”

Neville shook his head. “No. My Gran said that I should use his wand to honor him.”

“Then you're not going to do well at school,” Draco told him. “She should know that.”

“I could have my dad reach out to her,” Harry offered. “We'll have to tell whoever your Head of House is. They'll want you to do your best, at the very least.”

Neville shrugged. “I guess. I just don't want to make Gran mad.”

“I think it's better that you do your best and risk making her a little mad rather than not doing your best and making her even more mad,” Hermione said. “She should want you to do well.”

“Honestly, it was a surprise I even got my letter,” Neville admitted. “That's why I got Trevor. He was a gift from my great-uncle for getting my letter.”

“I'd prefer an owl, but I guess that works,” Draco said, “and I don't know what they were worried about. You're from a highly magical family. Maybe your magic just presents differently than usual. It happens.”

“Maybe.” Neville didn't look too comforted by that. “I guess I'm stuck with my dad's wand for now.”

“Don't worry. We'll get you taken care of,” Harry assured him.

The rest of the train rise was thankfully free of any interruptions from unwanted guests, and when the announcement came on over the loudspeaker that they would be arriving at Hogsmeade Station in five minutes, the boys stepped out of the compartment to let Hermione change into her robes before taking their own turn. Harry and Draco entrusted their trunks to their personal house elves, not wanting their luggage to be delayed or sidetracked. Both trunks were protected with blood- and magic-based wards, but there were still ways to override or circumvent even the strongest wards, especially for particularly powerful magic users.

“What _were_ those?” Hermione asked quietly as they disembarked the train.

“Those were Koko and Dobby, our house elves,” Harry explained. “House elves are drawn to a family with strong magics. In exchange for a bond with either the family as a whole or a particular person in that family, the house elves act as servants. They need the bond to keep them from going mad. They live in...” He paused, trying to think of the word. “What did your mum call it, Draco? Sym- Sumb-”

“Symbiosis?” Hermione suggested, earning a bright smile from Harry.

“Right, that! _Symbiosis_ with magic users. House elves live off the ambient magic we make. A lot of people don't think house elves are all that important, but Koko is my friend,” he finished, “so I'm gonna treat him like one.”

“Good plan,” Hermione said, still looking thoughtful about the whole situation. They followed the other first years towards a towering man with a lantern in his hand. He kept scanning the platform as if he was looking for someone in particular, and Harry had a feeling he knew who it was. He kept his head down until their guide gave up and started leading the group of first years away from the platform and down a nearby path.

Harry felt Hermione gasp and then quickly grab his hand, and he could only assume that she'd nearly lost her footing on the precarious path. He didn't mind; in fact, he kept hold of her hand until they reached the dock area where a small fleet of boats were waiting for them, one particularly large boat clearly set aside for their guide. Harry helped Hermione into the boat, followed by Draco and Neville. He settled in next to Draco on the rear seat, sharing a quick grin with his cousin as the boats started off.

The first sight of Hogwarts at night was an amazing one. Harry heard more than one person gasp at the magnificent array of towers and windows waiting for them on the shore. The trip ended in a cave that was guarded by a curtain of ivy hanging over its mouth, a staircase leading up and out to what Harry assumed were the main grounds of the school. Their guide- who still hadn't introduced himself to them -took them up the stairs and across the dew-damp lawns and towards the main entrance of the castle.

He knocked three times on the front door, the booming noise making more than a few people jump. The doors were opened by a stern-looking woman with her hair pulled back in a dark bun.

“The firs' years, Professor McGonagall.”

“Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here.”

Ah, so _that_ was the giant man's name. Harry made a note to remember that as he followed the others into the castle and into a side chamber. They could hear the murmur of hundreds of voices coming from the nearby Great Hall as they shuffled into the antechamber, and then that noise was cut off by the door to the antechamber shutting. The speech that Professor McGonagall gave them was clearly rehearsed and sounded like something someone who wanted to only focus on the positive would give. Harry was all for good relations with his schoolmates, but he also was wary of only focusing on his Housemates. Shouldn't they _all_ be like family?

He knew the answer he'd be given if asked was likely to be 'it's always been done this way' or 'it's tradition'. That seemed to be the reason for a lot of things in the Magical World, like why no one used anything besides quills and parchment to write with or why there weren't forms of magical mass transit that didn't threaten to make one throw up. Harry kept his opinions to himself as Professor McGonagall left for a brief time and then returned to take them into the Great Hall.

The scene was quite magical, what with the floating candles and occasional silvery ghost at the tables, but Harry's attention was fixed on the long-bearded man sitting at the teacher's table. Was that... Was that a _throne_? If it wasn't, then it sure as hell looked like one, and that was just egotistical to the max. Harry barely hid a sneer of disgust as he forced himself to look away from the Headmaster and scanned the rest of the high table.

The teachers all looked relatively alright, though there were a few Harry wasn't sure of, including a sallow-faced man in all black and a man with light brown hair who had scars littered across his face. It was possible that both were perfectly nice people, but Harry was going to reserve his thoughts until he actually met them himself. Harry refocused his attention on the front when Professor McGonagall brought forth a three-legged stool and a patched hat.

She placed the hat on the stool and then stepped back. Everyone stared at it, and then, after a brief pause, the hat began to sing. Thankfully, it wasn't off-pitch, but Harry wasn't exactly impressed by the song either. Once the song was over, the hat fell still, allowing Professor McGonagall to pick it up. When the first student (“Abbot, Hannah!”) took a seat on the stool, McGonagall placed the hat on her head, and soon Hannah was declared the first Hufflepuff of the night.

The Sorting moved apace from there, with Harry clapping hard when Hermione got Sorted into Ravenclaw after seeming to debate with the Hat for several long seconds. Neville was next, gaining the gold and black of Hufflepuff on his robe trim and tie. Harry clapped equally hard for him, as well as for Draco when he got into Slytherin. He forced himself not to shift from foot to foot as McGonagall grew closer and closer to calling his name, falling still entirely as the second of a set of twins was Sorted to Gryffindor.

“Potter-Black, Harry!”

Harry took a deep breath, touched the lump under his robes where Whisper was curled up in one of his pockets, and then made his way to the stool. He stared out over the assembled student body until the Sorting Hat was placed on his head and cloth blocked out his sight.

_Ah, Heir Potter-Black. I was wondering when I would get to speak with you. It's always wonderful to talk with the Heir of one of our Founders. Now, then, where to put you..._

**Not Gryffindor** **,** Harry immediately thought back to it.

_Not Gryffindor, eh? But you're the heir of that house and could be great there._

**I don't want to be great, I want to be my own person. I don't want to be judged by who's come before me, but rather who I am.**

The Hat fell silent, and Harry could swear he could  _ feel _ it thinking.  _ Hm... Tricky. Very tricky indeed. You would do well in all of the Houses, but if you don't want to go to your ancestral House, then perhaps you'll do well in... _

“RAVENCLAW!”

Harry blinked in the sudden light as Professor McGonagall lifted the Hat off his head. He got up and joined Hermione at the Ravenclaw table, settling in happily at her side. Harry glanced up at the head table to see how Dumbledore was taking him not being a Gryffindor. The Headmaster looked rather put out, though he was hiding it well as the remaining first years were Sorted, clapping politely for them until Ronald Weasley was Sorted into Gryffindor and Professor McGonagall took the Hat and stool away, presumably back to wherever they were kept during the rest of the year.

After a short and rather nonsensical speech from Dumbledore, the meal began. Harry quickly downed the potion Lulu slipped into his pocket, tucking the empty vial away once he was done and then taking a drink of water.

“Is everything alright?” Hermione murmured, thankfully not drawing too much attention to what Harry had just done.

“It's fine. I... I need to take potions with every meal,” Harry replied. “It's a health thing.”

“Alright.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't press any further, instead focusing on putting food on her plate. Harry did the same, tucking into his food and enjoying the rich flavors. It was heavier fare than what he usually ate, but given that it was a feast, that was likely to change for regular meals, or so he hoped. He indulged in a small bowl of chocolate ice cream for dessert, setting his spoon down once he was done.

Harry felt warm and content. His stomach was full, he got into a good House, and he had a friend at his side. Hermione seemed pleased with how things were going as well judging from the quietly happy smile that was on her face. Harry leaned in to speak with her.

“Doing alright?” he asked.

Hermione nodded. “Yeah, I am,” she confirmed. “I'm very excited about being in Ravenclaw. Are you?”

Harry nodded. “My grandfather Charles was in Ravenclaw, so I guess technically I'm following in his footsteps a little.”

“Well, at least it's a good path to follow,” Hermione said with a smile. “And you won't be in your parents' shadows. At least not in this, anyways.”

“True,” Harry agreed. “I-”

He paused when Dumbledore got to his feet. The Headmaster raised his wand and set off a series of brightly colored sparkles to catch the attention of the students. The chatter that had been filling the Great Hall died away as everyone focused on Dumbledore.

“Ah, wonderful. Now that we are all watered and fed, I have a few announcements to tell you before you all toddle off to bed,” he said. “First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students, as should a few of our older students.” His gaze cut towards a pair of red-headed twins at the Gryffindor table before returning to the assembled students at large. “I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic is to be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone second-year and up who are interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, we welcome a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to our ranks. Please help me welcome Professor Remus Lupin!”

The man with the sandy brown hair got to his feet, bowed briefly, and then took his seat once more. Harry noticed that the sallow-faced man was glaring unrepentantly at Lupin, though why was anyone's guess. Dumbledore nodded and then spread his arms wide with a giant smile.

“And with that, I bid you all goodnight. First years, please follow your prefects to your houses. I wish all sweet dreams and look forward to hearing how your first week goes!”

Dumbledore let his arms fall back to his sides as the student body got up and left the Great Hall. Harry followed the nearest non-first year Ravenclaws out of the Hall, Hermione grabbing onto his hand once more so they didn't get separated. Harry hardly minded, especially given how pleasantly his magic tingled within him while their skin was in contact. They had to part ways once they were in the Ravenclaw common room, but Harry knew that he'd see her in the morning.

He made his way up the boys' staircase to where there was a door labeled 'First Years', followed by the other three boys in his year who had been Sorted into Ravenclaw. Behind the door was what looked to be a smaller version of the common room with four doors set around the edges. Each had the name of one of the boys. Harry found his name and entered his room. There was a four poster bed, a wardrobe, and a small desk set into one of the corners of the room. His trunk was already waiting at the end of his bed, and the half-open door of his wardrobe showed that his house elves had already unpacked his clothes, as they were all neatly hanging there. Whisper's enclosure was set up in another corner and all ready for him.

Harry closed his door after saying goodnight to his dorm-mates, locking the door and then getting ready for bed. Once he'd changed into his pajamas, he called Koko.

“Hey, 'Ko,” he said as he sat down on the edge of his bed. “Everything good here?”

Koko nodded. “Everything's nice and clean,” he confirmed. “Koko has done elf-wards so no one can sneak in and do bad stuff to your things. Lulu is in the kitchens making sure all the elves there know that she's going to watch over your food.”

Harry smiled fondly. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” He yawned, belatedly covering his mouth. “Go ahead and tell Dad where I Sorted and let him know I'll mirror-call him tomorrow morning, alright?”

“Koko will do this. Sleep well, Master Harry.”

Harry watched him pop out and then got under his blankets, wriggling a little until he was comfortable. He was asleep not long after that, glad to finally be at Hogwarts.


	6. Chapter Five

Sirius was sitting in his study, trying to focus on the paperwork that needed to get done before he headed to the Autumn Wizengamot session the next day. He looked up when he heard the familiar pop of a house elf coming into the room and set down his quill in its holder.

“Koko! How's Harry doing?”

“Master Harry is doing well, Master Sirius,” Koko replied. “He sent Koko to tells you that he got Sorted into Ravenclaw and that he'll mirror-call you in the morning before classes start.”

Sirius laughed. “I knew it!” he said. “I _knew_ he'd get into Ravenclaw. I even told him that myself at the station. How did he seem? Was he happy about it?”

Koko nodded. “He did seem happy. Lulu made sure to tell the other elves that only us would take care of his food.”

“Good. I know it seems silly, but it never hurts.” Sirius looked thoughtful. “Though I don't know if they'd be able to go against him since he's the heir of Gryffindor.”

“Not sure, Master Sirius, but we can ask,” Koko said, rocking back on his heels a little. “The Headwizzy seemed mad that Master Harry Sorted where he did.” He hesitated, worrying at his bottom lip, a sure sign that he wasn't sure of how to continue.

“Go on, Koko,” Sirius urged. “It's alright. You won't get in trouble for saying what needs to be said.”

“Mister Remus is there,” Koko blurted out. “He's the new Defense teacher.”

Sirius went still, his mind blanking. Remus. Remus was at the school. His eyes narrowed as his thoughts churned. What was Dumbledore planning with that? Was it to have Remus get close to Harry? More than likely. That was how Dumbledore liked to work, staying behind the scenes and having others do his dirty work for him.

“Thank you for telling me. Wait a moment while I write a note for you to take to Remus, alright?”

Sirius pulled a fresh piece of parchment across his desk, picked up his quill, and began to write.

_Dear Remus,_

_It's been a long time, old friend. Far too long, to be honest. I don't blame you for not reaching out since I got out of Azkaban, as I'm not sure you've even been in the country since that happened. I apologize for not reaching out myself in the past few months, but helping my grandfather to get the House of Black back into shipshape as well as finally being a parent to Harry has taken up my time._

_Now, the reason why I'm reaching out to you now is that I have heard word that you are the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. I would like to meet with you if at all possible this coming weekend after the first week of classes. It's time we caught up and cleared the air, I think._

_Yours,_

_Sirius Black_

_Heir Primary of House Black_

_Regent of House Potter_

Sirius looked it over, nodded, and then cast a charm to dry the ink and make sure it didn't smudge. He folded it up, sealed it with a bit of wax and a press of his heir ring before holding it out to Koko.

“Here. Take this to Remus Lupin, but make sure you give it to him when he's alone,” he said. “I don't want anyone else knowing we're in contact for now.”

“Yes, Master Sirius,” Koko said, taking the letter from him. He popped away, leaving Sirius to his thoughts. Sirius leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. Merlin's beard, this was going to be hard. He'd figured that Remus had either not heard that he'd been freed from Azkaban or hadn't cared. The latter thought had hurt too much for him to dwell on, so Sirius had shoved it deep to the back of his mind.

Now, though...

Now he needed to figure out what Dumbledore's game plan was with putting Remus as the Defense teacher. Sirius knew his friend would be brilliant at it, that was no question, but what other duties he might be given by Dumbledore were still unknown. Sirius blew out a stream of air and then, with a grunt of annoyance, summoned a packet of magical herbal cigarettes from his dimensional store. He didn't smoke around Harry, but the stressful situation definitely called for indulging. Unlike their Mundane counterparts, the cigarette weren't harmful or addictive, and instead promised a calming effect immediately.

Sirius lit one of the cigarettes with a bit of wandless magic and then drew on the cigarette, breathing in the sweet-scented smoke and then letting it slowly stream out of his mouth. He sighed heavily, waiting for the promised calming agent to kick in. He knew the meeting with Remus was going to be rough, but he hoped that by the end, they'd have another ally at Hogwarts.

  


Harry had enjoyed his classes so far. Astronomy on Mondays was far too late at night, but thankfully the next day had classes starting later in the day for the Ravenclaw First Years in order to offset that. He had Charms, Double Transfiguration, and Astronomy on Mondays; History of Magic and Herbology on Tuesdays; Double Defense Against the Dark Arts and Double Charms on Wednesdays; Double History of Magic and Potions on Thursdays, and then he just had Double Herbology and regular Charms on Fridays with the afternoon off. Flying classes started the next week; the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs would have it on Tuesdays after History of Magic for a month until Madam Hooch was satisfied with their progress and signed off on them not needing the class any more.

It was certainly different than what Harry was used to, given that his primary school had run a six period day with spaces for a break and a lunch period. He wasn't entirely sure what he would do with all his free time, even with Astronomy being late at night. He supposed he could use it for homework, but he doubted the first years would be given all that much homework since they were still only just learning how to be proper magic users.

He put forth this theory to Hermione during lunch on Thursday. She was sitting across from him and paused with her fork halfway to her mouth.

“I hadn't even thought of that,” she said, setting her fork back down on her plate. “The schedule does seem rather odd, doesn't it? Three classes at the most each day, even with the double periods, doesn't really sound all that efficient.”

“I know, right?” Harry said. “Maybe it used to be different when the school first started or it's changed over the years?”

“I wonder if any of the ghosts would know.” Hermione looked thoughtful. “We could ask one of them after Potions.”

“Sounds like a plan. Are you excited about Potions?”

Hermione hummed as she finished her mouthful. “It'll be interesting to see what it's like, even with the stories we've heard from the others about Professor Snape. That book you loaned me will be a help too. I've sent an owl order form to Flourish and Blotts to get a set of my own.”

“I'm glad it could help. I don't know why they don't tell us about them on the book list,” Harry said before finishing off his food. He waited until Hermione was done before walking with her and the other First Years in their house down to the Potions classroom. The Hufflepuffs joined them not long after, Neville joining Harry and Hermione in a little knot before they followed the others into the classroom.

They had to part ways with Neville as there were only two seats per station, but he partnered up with Padma Patil, so hopefully he would be alright for the class. Harry hung his outer robe up on a nearby coat hook on the wall, prompting Hermione and most of the others to do the same, with the stragglers being nudged along by their friends. It seemed dangerous to have long hems and sleeves around open flames, and the hooks _were_ right there, so it wasn't much of a leap of logic to put their robes there for retrieval later. Besides, his guidebook had suggested only to wear garments with close-fitting sleeves and hems when dealing with potions that required an open and non-magical flame, and he trusted that the author, a Master S. Prince, knew their stuff.

Harry put both the assigned Potions book and the guidebook- Hermione had given it back to him the prior day -on the desk, as well as a piece of parchment, ink pot, and his quill. He was glad he'd opted for quills with anti-smudge charms on them for school, as he still wasn't entirely used to writing with that particular instrument. Beside him, Hermione did the same, making sure their shared workstation was neat and tidy before class began.

And begin it did, the door banging off the back wall as Professor Snape swept in. He drew up short, however, when he saw that the whole class had put their outer robes on the coat hooks. It was nice to know that he was capable of anything beyond a sneer of varying levels of intensity and disgust.

“And who,” he snapped, “told you to put your robes there?”

“No one, Professor, but Harry did it, and we figured he had a good idea,” Terry Boot replied. Snape focused on Harry, his usual sneer returning.

“I see. And if Mr. Potter told you to jump off a cliff, would you? Potter! Where did you get the idea?”

Harry held up the guidebook. “From _A Beginner's Guide to Potions_ , sir,” he said, keeping his voice level. His mother's portrait had mentioned Snape a bit, but it had been with a sort of melancholy that Harry had found curious but also that had kept him from pressing the issue too much. “It says that having long sleeves isn't a good idea when you're brewing without a magical flame, and since I didn't know what kind of flame we're using today, if any, I figured it'd be a good idea to follow the book's instructions.”

That seemed to caught Snape even more off-balance, much to Harry's surprise. His expression flickered between annoyance and a vague bit of respect before settling on neutrality. “I see. In this _one_ case, you were correct. Congratulations for being the first person in the decade I've been teaching to bring both required books with you.”

Harry frowned. “It wasn't on the list,” he said, “but I was given the set it's in as a birthday gift, so I figured bringing them along wasn't a bad idea.”

That had Snape frowning. “What? Explain.”

“About what, sir?”

“About it not being a required book. I've put it on the list every year, and yet it seems to be ignored every time.”

“One moment.” Harry produced his book list from his satchel after a bit of digging, having kept it just in case he needed to reorder a book for any reason. He held it out to Snape, who took it from him with a sharp gesture and swiftly read it over, his scowl returning.

“I see. I will have to discuss this with- Hmph. Perhaps you won't be as much a dunderhead as expected, Mr. Potter. May I keep this?”

“I can always get another copy from someone else,” Harry said. “Go ahead.”

Snape folded the list up and then tucked it into a pocket of his robes before resuming his trek to the front of the class. “I can't _believe_ I'm saying this, but I would suggest the rest of you continue to follow Mr. Potter's example and purchase at the very least _A Beginner's Guide to Potions_ , if not the complete set of those guidebooks. They had all been written by people who hold a Mastery in their field but who are also able to write in a way that will fit your learning levels. I believe there are copies of the seven books in the library at the moment, but you will need to ask Madam Pince about that. You can owl-order the books from Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley or from Biblios in Hogsmeade, and they are not prohibitively expensive. Now, then, on to the lesson for the day...”

Now that he didn't seem to be as annoyed or frustrated with them, Snape turned out to be not that bad of a teacher, though he did have to correct several students from making mistakes. Neville nearly forgot to remove his cauldron from the fire before adding the porcupine quills, but Padma managed to stop him from making a rather explosive mistake. He smiled at her thankfully and then continued on with his potion, eventually turning in a vial of passable Boil Cure at the end of the class.

Harry finished cleaning his part of the workstation and cauldron as per the instructions in his book, happy to find that there was a simple charm that even he could manage to sterilize his stir rods and cauldron to be used for the next class. The cauldron was set aside in a niche in a nearby storage room that automatically labeled itself with his name and then put a shimmering field over the niche's front, allowing him to keep it there without having to lug it back and forth from Ravenclaw Tower every time he had Potions class. He'd been wondering about that since the thing was pretty hefty to be hauling up and down the castle each week.

Once everything was cleaned up, Harry put his robe back on and waited for Hermione to finish her own cleaning. They moved out to the hallway, meeting up with the others as they made their way to the Great Hall for dinner. They talked about how the class had gone, Hermione going over the steps of the potion under her breath. Harry figured that was just her way of memorization and didn't mention it.

“I quite liked that class,” Terry said as they made their way into the Great Hall. “Professor Snape seemed quite strict but given what we're working with, it's probably necessary.”

“Like a chemistry teacher. That makes sense,” Harry said, earning some puzzled looks from the Magic-raised students in their group. He launched into a very basic explanation of what chemistry was, as he himself hadn't taken the subject before Hogwarts but had a foundational knowledge of it nonetheless. Hermione chimed in as well, and before they knew it, most of their mixed group had gravitated towards the empty end of the Hufflepuff table as they continued their discussion about the differences and similarities between Mundane chemistry and Potions.

They earned a few odd looks from the other students but none of them cared. Draco and a few of the other less blood-biased first year Slytherins wandered over to the Hufflepuff table to see what had their year-mates so enthralled. Room was made for them, and whether it was house elf magic or just that of Hogwarts, no one appeared to be too squished or out of hearing range. Draco sat to Harry's left, while Neville was on his right and Hermione across from him.

“Hey, you owe me five Sickles, by the way,” Harry told Draco. “Professor Snape didn't snap at me or anything.”

“Really?” Draco looked surprised.

“Yeah. He was a bit sneery at first, but we talked a bit and he calmed down mostly,” Harry explained as the food appeared in front of them. He quickly downed the potion Lulu popped into his pocket and put the vial away in his dimensional store to give back later.

“Sneery? Is that even a word?” Draco asked, laughing as he dug out the money he owed Harry from his pocket and then handed it over.

“No, it's not,” Hermione said with a sigh, “but he's not wrong. Professor Snape seemed alright once he'd talked to Harry. Did you know that there were supposed to be two assigned Potions books on the list? Professor Snape seemed very annoyed that only Harry had _The Beginner's Guide to Potions_ , but that was only because Harry had gotten it for his birthday. Imagine if he hadn't gotten it or hadn't brought it to class! We'd never know that we had to hang up our outer robes on those coat hooks on the walls or that slicing something lengthwise versus across would provide different results.”

“They do?” Neville asked. “Can I borrow that book until I can get my own, Harry? I'm pants at Potions and want to make sure I don't blow anyone up.”

“Sure, but you have to agree to go with me to Professor Sprout and tell her about your wand not fitting right. I noticed you were still having issues with it in Charms yesterday,” Harry said, making Neville sigh.

“ _Fine,_ I _guess._ ”

Harry grinned at him. “That's what I like to hear.”

“You're really weird, you know that, Harry?” Neville asked.

“I know, and I've decided that I might as well just be my usual weird self and not let anyone tell me different. They'll likely either love me or hate me for something I supposedly did as a one year old,” Harry said as he cut up his grilled salmon, “so why hide my real self unless necessary?”

“I guess. When would you want to go to Professor Sprout?”

“Maybe after dinner?” Harry shrugged. “She seems like she wouldn't mind as long as we catch her before she goes to bed.”

“Probably not,” Neville agreed. They continued on with dinner, Harry noticing that none of the Gryffindors seemed too enthusiastic about joining their mixed group. Well, that was their loss, he supposed, though he should probably reach out to _some_ of them at some point since he was the Heir of their House and all that. That could wait, however. Now was the time for enjoying good food and even better friends.

  


Remus was thriving at Hogwarts. Sure, it had only been a few days, but classes had been going well even with the short notice he'd had to whip up a basic lesson plan for the year for each year level. He mainly went by what Professor Quirrell- who had mysteriously disappeared in late August -had already set out, though he'd gone through and tweaked it some here and there to better fit his own teaching style. He hoped the supposed curse on the position had been broken, but he supposed only the Headmaster really would know.

He was glad to see the end of classes on Friday, as he'd been worried all week about Sirius's letter. It had certainly been unexpected, especially given the manner in which it had arrived. A smartly uniformed house elf had popped into his personal quarters, dropped off the letter on his coffee table, and then had popped away again before Remus had barely had time to recognize it as one of the Potter elves. Remus had triple-checked the letter before breaking the seal and reading it over, his surprise and guilt growing equally with every word.

He hadn't heard that Sirius had been freed until he'd gotten back to England, as he'd been doing work in a remote area of Turkey on a potions ingredient farm that hadn't cared that he was a werewolf and needed to take the occasional three days off. Even then, Remus was ashamed to say that he had been highly skeptical of Sirius actually being innocent until he'd seen the notice that the goblins had caught Peter Pettigrew alive near Ottery St. Catchpole and had summarily tried and executed him for oathbreaking and other crimes against Magic. The notice had been printed in an old copy of the _Daily Prophet_ he'd picked up to try and catch up on the news he'd missed since he'd left the British Isles.

Remus breathed a sigh of relief when Friday's dinner was over and done with and he was able to escape to his own quarters. He'd told the Headmaster he'd be out for the weekend but hadn't told him why or where he was going. Dumbledore hadn't seemed very pleased about that, but Remus was an adult now and didn't have to explain everything to his boss. He may only have thirty-one years to Dumbledore's ninety or so, but that didn't mean Albus could see him as a child any more.

The pop of a house elf had Remus turning sharply on the spot, relief taking over when he saw the Black coat of arms embroidered neatly on the left breast pocket of the uniform the elf was wearing.

“Mister Lupin is ready for his visit?” the elf asked holding out his hand to Remus. “Jasper has been told to wait until yous is ready and then take you to meet Master Sirius.”

Remus Summoned his cloak from the hook he kept it on and then accepted Jasper's hand after putting his cloak on. The method of transportation house elves used was greatly different from Apparition. While it still sounded the same, popping around was more like stumbling through a doorway from one place to another rather than being sucked through a straw like Apparition. They reappeared in what looked to be a warded Floo receiving room.

As soon as Remus got his breath back, Jasper led him through a few halls before taking him to what looked like a sitting room of some sort, though where it was, Remus had no clue.

“Mister Lupin, Master Sirius,” Jasper announced solemnly. “Jasper will go tell the kitchen to send up tea and sandwiches.”

“Thank you, Jasper.”

Sirius rose from the chair he'd been sitting in as Jasper left, his eyes never leaving Remus. Remus immediately felt like he'd been put under the gaze of a hawk with how intensely Sirius was watching him. It made his inner wolf growl and grumble. Sirius was pack; why was he looking at Remus like an outsider to be wary of?

Sirius ran a hand over his face and then gestured at the pair of comfortable armchairs that sat in front of the nearby fireplace. A fire crackled gently in the fireplace, adding a quiet bit of ambiance to the background. Once Sirius and Remus were settled in their chairs, a tea service and plate of half sandwiches popped into existence on the table between them.

“You wanted to talk?” Remus prompted after Sirius had finished pouring his tea. The pot was enchanted to pour whatever tea the person pouring it desired the most at that time; Sirius's was a blueberry green tea while Remus got a chocolate-based tea.

“Yes, I did.”

Sirius took a sip of his tea, a quiet hum leaving him at the perfectly brewed drink. He set the cup down on its saucer and then leaned back in his chair as much as he could. “I'll be blunt: if Dumbledore tries to make you get close to Harry in the name of his so-called 'Greater Good' and you go along with it for whatever reason, we'll no longer be friends and you'll be considered an enemy both of the House of Black and Potter. However, if you agree to work only for Harry's true benefit and good, then we won't have any issues. I don't mind you working for Dumbledore, but I won't stand you putting my son in harm's way and Dumbledore has only escaped being named an enemy of our Houses because he hasn't moved directly against us- yet. It's likely only a matter of time, though, knowing him. Think you can handle that, or do I need to memory charm you so Dumbledore doesn't find out about this meeting by poking around in your thoughts?”

“He wouldn't do that!” Remus insisted. “Besides, while I'm not happy about being a werewolf, it does protect my mind from invaders. It's too wild for a Legilimens to stay there long enough to get anything worthwhile. And I'm not going to willingly work against Harry. He's still part of my pack, after all. Just like you are.”

Sirius snorted derisively. “You know, for someone who says he doesn't like being a werewolf, you certainly don't mind using some of their terminology.”

Remus huffed. “It's easier to quantify that relationship in my head that way. What's gotten into you? You used to be as big a Dumbledore supporter as anyone else in the Order.”

“I'm not part of that any more,” Sirius replied, “and for good reason. Dumbledore has proven time and again that only his agenda matters and that everything and everyone else is just fodder for his supposed war against the Dark.” He held up a hand to forestall Remus's rebuttal. “Dumbledore _knew_ I was innocent, for a start, and he never once bothered to try to get me an actual trial or told anyone that I was innocent. He placed Harry with Petunia and her husband, and they tried to beat and starve the magic out of him. The goblins think that it was only the Gryffindor legacy and his mother's sacrifice that kept him alive and well. He also left Harry with a fucking _Horcrux_ sealed in his scar when the goblins were able to get it removed within an hour just by doing a full cleansing. I also suspect he was the one who cursed my grandfather into not trying to get a trial for me, but we don't have enough proof for it- yet. So you can see, I don't trust Dumbledore farther than I can Banish him.”

Remus clutched at his teacup, his mind reeling. Dumbledore had always presented himself as a kind grandfather-like figure to the world, and for the most part, he seemed to live up to that image. He was also a strong leader for the Light, something he'd proven time and again. He _wanted_ to believe that what Sirius was telling him was all a lie, but he hadn't heard one blip in Sirius's voice or heartbeat that would prove otherwise. Remus didn't know what to think, and that was a rarity for him most of the time.

“What- what do you want me to do?” he asked finally.

“Two things: swear to me on the memory of James and Lily that you won't let Dumbledore use you as one of his pawns ever again, and keep an active eye on Harry for me, even if it's at a distance. We've got an ally in Flitwick, not to mention Harry's two elves. They're rabid protectors of him and there's at least one of them with him at all times, even if they mostly stay unseen,” Sirius said. “I'm not asking you to spy on Dumbledore, but if you happen to overhear or see something that you might think useful, let me know right away. I'll assign an elf to keep an ear out for your call.”

“That's it? That's the price I have to pay?” Remus asked, deeply suspicious. Sirius grinned.

“Almost. There's one more thing-”

“Of course there is,” Remus groaned. “What is it?”

Sirius flicked a small, flat box out of his dimensional store and then handed it to Remus. “You'll have to accept a gift without complaining or insisting it costs too much. Because honestly? This was about five Galleons in the Magical Bazaar in Cairo, so you can't even say that it's too much.”

Remus warily opened the box, only to find a pendant inside that had the head of a falcon with a moon-disk perched on top of it. The pendant looked to be made of some sort of silvery metal, but Remus highly doubted Sirius would give him anything with silver in it. As a quick test, he brushed a finger briefly over the metal, relaxing greatly when nothing happened.

“What is it?” he asked, drawing the pendant out by the fine chain it was attached to in order to look at it better.

“An Amulet of Khonsu,” Sirius told him, picking up one of the cucumber sandwiches and then biting into it. Once he'd finished eating, he continued on. “It's only a little illegal in Britain, but it does the same thing as the Wolfsbane Potion except it won't slowly poison you every time you use it. The Egyptians have been using them for thousands of years to help with their population of werebeings. On the three nights of the full moon, you'll just transform into a wolf and keep all your human faculties. Think of it as being a part-time Animagus. I don't know if you'll be able to change outside of the full moon time period, but the goblins recommended getting it. They've been trying to import them into the Isles for years, but the Ministry won't let them.”

Remus looked up sharply. “But- but that would solve the problem of werewolves not being able to have steady jobs. Would it reduce the ability for the bite to carry?”

Sirius hesitated. “I'm not sure. That's something you'd have to ask the goblins. They're the ones who're most knowledgeable about it. Put it on. It needs to attune and bond to your magic so it'll be effective when the full moon rises. Just think, you won't have to deal with that potion or hiding yourself away. You can just lock yourself in your room and then you'll be all set. What's even better is that the goblins say that the amulet eases the transition so much that you won't feel pain during your shift. Out of curiosity, did Dumbledore say anything about hiring a substitute teacher for you when the full moon falls on a school day?”

Remus paused briefly in the middle of putting the fine chain around his neck and then shook his head as he finished closing the clasp. Once he'd done so, the chain automatically shortened itself to a length that allowed the pendant to lie flat against his breastbone. Remus tucked it under his shirt, figuring that it would be best to have skin contact with it to allow the magic to work. The moment it made full contact with his skin, a sudden wave of magic spread out from the amulet and washed over Remus, making him slump in his chair and fall deeply asleep.

“Think I should've warned him?” Sirius turned his attention to Kirak, who had been hiding behind a specialized disillusionment spell that hid their scent and heartbeat from even the keen senses of a werewolf.

“No. He would've fought the magic of the amulet otherwise,” Kirak said as they ended the spell that had been hiding them from Remus's detection. “It's up to him now. Ideally he wouldn't have to go through this so late, but with the Ministry refusing to allow us to import the amulets...” They shook their head in disgust.

“How long will this take?” Sirius asked, watching Remus twitch gently, as if he was dreaming.

“As long as is necessary for him to come to terms with his inner wolf. We placed a temporary time dilation field on this room. One minute outside equals one hour here. I doubt he'll be under for longer than twenty-four minutes real time. We'll keep an eye on him and make sure he's doing alright. There's no need for you to stay here, Heir Black.”

“I'm staying,” Sirius said immediately. “Being an extra day older is a small price to pay to be here when Remus wakes.”

“If you say so.”

Kirak conjured a comfortable goblin-sized chair with a wave of their hand and then settled in with a book. Sirius did much the same, occasionally taking a drink from his tea as he read the most recent edition of _The Evening Prophet_ and then worked on the seemingly never-ending paperwork that being the Regent for House Potter and the Heir Primary for House Black generated. Remus stirred at around twenty hours in, Sirius snapping awake from a short nap he'd taken while Kirak occasionally checked on Remus.

Remus's eyes fluttered open, a groan escaping him. When his eyes fully opened, they glowed a vibrant amber before slowly returning to their normal honey brown color. Sirius straightened up in his chair, looking expectantly at his old friend.

Remus got up from his chair, his movements a little shaky until he caught his balance, and then stepped forward. Sirius got up as well, eager to speak with him.

Remus glared at him. “You could've warned me about what was going to happen.”

“Actually, I told Heir Black not to,” Kirak said, looking up from their book. “It was better you didn't fight against the magic of the medallion. How are you feeling now, Mr. Lupin?”

Remus rolled his shoulders as he thought about the question.

“Hm. Much more settled. I didn't... I didn't realize how much I was out of touch with my inner wolf or how much it was hurting me to be like that. The education system here about werewolves and what options we have in regards to our monthly changes is abysmal.”

“Yes, it is,” Kirak agreed. “All the werebeings who work for Gringotts are required to wear those amulets.”

“I- I've never heard of the bank employing any werebeing,” Remus said.

“The Ministry again.” Sirius stepped forward and wrapped Remus in a hug. Remus returned it, holding him tight.

“I've missed you, Padfoot,” Remus murmured. “I'm sorry I didn't come forward about you sooner.”

“It's not your fault,” Sirius assured him. “I don't blame you. Don't hold that weight. You don't need to any more.”

“I can't promise anything right away, but I'll do my best,” Remus said as they parted. “So, how do I explain that I don't need the Wolfsbane Potion, then?”

“We have sent a notice to our contacts at the ICW to then send a message to Albus Dumbledore and all four Heads of the school Houses, as well as the school board to let them know that you have found an alternative to the Wolfsbane Potion in your travels abroad and that the ICW has vetted and verified that the alternative will keep you safe around the students for the three days of the full moon,” Kirak said.

“About that... Will the amulet keep me from being able to infect others as a wolf?” Remus asked.

Kirak rolled their eyes. “The state of your education...” They shook their head. “You have to _want_ to infect someone. Otherwise you'll just cause physical damage, but given that werewolves tend to be far stronger than any usual human, they usually kill their victims before being able to properly infect them. There are those who take joy in infecting as many people as they can, like Fenrir Greyback. The only reason why we haven't hunted down that beast and those who follow him is because the Ministry won't allow us to place a bounty on his head.”

“That's odd. You'd think they'd want him out of the picture quickly,” Remus said, “but thank you for the clarification. I guess being in my right mind as a wolf will mean that I won't ever want to turn someone.”

“Maybe, maybe not. There are those who may find being a werewolf preferable to dying slowly of a magical disease or a life-threatening injury,” Kirak said. “It's happened before, and I dare say it will likely happen again in the future.”

“I-” Remus frowned, not sure how to take that. “I suppose that makes sense in a way, but I don't know if I would want to do that unless absolutely necessary.”

“And no one will make you,” Sirius said firmly. “Don't you dare take that amulet off now that you have it. I don't want to give Dumbledore or anyone else ammunition against you, especially not this early in the school year.”

“I won't take it off,” Remus promised.

“You won't be able to,” Kirak interjected. “Only an approved healer can, and there are none in the British Magical World who have that approval whatsoever.”

“Ha! The Ministry working against themselves yet again,” Sirius said with a laugh. “We'd better get you back to Hogwarts, Remus. Wouldn't want anyone to try and go looking for you who shouldn't be sticking their noses in your business. How's Hogwarts been treating you, by the way? Snape still being a git?”

“He hasn't really talked to me much,” Remus admitted as Kirak ended the time dilation field and let the two wizards out of the room, though they themself stayed behind in the room. “Then again, it's only the first week, so it's probably just a matter of time.”

“Well, hopefully the fact that he won't have to brew the Wolfsbane Potion for you each month will help matters,” Sirius said, leading the way out of the room. “If he insists on being a jerk to either you or Harry, let me know.”

“I will,” Remus promised, following him down a set of stairs and through a dark gray door, surprised to find them stepping into what seemed to be an offshoot of Diagon Alley. Sirius turned to Remus once they were away from the door, digging a small wrapped package out of his pocket and then handing it to Remus.

“Here. If you need to talk to me right away, use this. You can also call for Jasper. He'll be keeping an ear out for your call. Stay safe, Moony. Jasper!”

Jasper popped into place next to Sirius, looking attentive. “Yes, Master Sirius?”

“Please take Remus back to his private quarters,” Sirius instructed. “And remember if he calls for you, pop over unseen first to make sure he's alone and then answer his call properly.”

“Yes, Master Sirius.” Jasper held out his hand to Remus. “Jasper will take you back now, Mister Remus.”

Remus gave Sirius one last smile and then took Jasper's hand in his. One heartbeat later and the two of them were back in Remus's quarters. Jasper popped away once he was satisfied Remus was settled, leaving the werewolf alone. Remus was surprised to see that barely an hour had passed since he'd originally left. He ran his fingers over the medallion that rested against his skin, tracing over its shape. He hadn't expected the change that had happened that night, but as he thought about it, the more he was content with the events that had occurred. Life certainly was going to be interesting during his time back at Hogwarts, and all Remus could do was go along for the ride.


	7. Chapter Six

Neville stared at the door in front of him, his nerves getting the better of him. It wasn't like the door was dangerous, but what hid behind it... He took a deep breath in, reached out, and then knocked a few times on the door.

“Come in!”

Neville turned the knob and entered Professor Sprout's office, unconsciously straightening his posture as much as he could when he saw his grandmother standing near Professor Sprout's desk. The Head of his school House smiled warmly at him, making him feel a little better, though not by much.

“Ah, good to see you, Mister Longbottom. Your grandmother has arrived to take you to Diagon Alley to get your wand,” Sprout told him cheerily. “You'll be taking my Floo here and coming back the same way.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Neville said politely before looking at his grandmother. “Grandmother. I hope you're well.”

“Well enough for having to take time out of my day for this,” Augusta said tersely. “Come along, Neville.”

She turned and went over to the large fireplace set in one wall, taking a small handful of Floo powder from the flowerpot Professor Sprout kept it in on the mantle. She tossed it in, the flames flaring a vibrant green. The two of them stepped inside, Augusta keeping a firm hand on one of Neville's shoulders as she called out, “The Leaky Cauldron!”

The flames flared around them and soon they were spinning off, Neville stumbling out of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron while his grandmother stepped out smoothly. She flicked her wand at the two of them, siphoning away the ash and depositing it back in the fireplace. She wasted little time after that to take Neville through the pub and then out into the Alley, eventually ending up at Ollivander's. Neville's nerves spiked as they entered the dusty little shop.

He took a deep breath in and then began to sneeze sharply due to the dust in the air. Augusta shot him a faintly annoyed look before thrusting a handkerchief at him. Neville took it with a mumbled word of thanks, covering his nose as he continued to sneeze. Once his sneezes tapered away, Neville looked up to see Ollivander staring contemplatively at him.

“Ah, Mister Longbottom. I was wondering when I would be seeing you. I'm surprised it took so long, to be honest.”

“He was using his father's wand,” Augusta said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It should've worked perfectly fine for him.”

Ollivander shook his head.

“Clearly not. Besides, I remember that wand. It was well suited for your son, but your grandson...” He looked at Neville thoughtfully. “Hm. Perhaps not.”

Neville felt his cheeks warm in shame. He knew he was lucky to be at Hogwarts, but it never felt great to be reminded of his failure to live up to his parents' legacy. Ollivander came around the corner and pulled out a measuring tape, starting with Neville's right arm and then going from there. The measuring tape fell to the wayside at Ollivander's snap, piling up on the floor while the wandmaker brought out several boxes from the back of the shop.

Finding his perfect match took quite some time. Neville was starting to think he wouldn't find anything and he'd have to go back to using his dad's old wand when Ollivander handed him a cherry wood and unicorn hair wand. Neville felt warm from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It felt far different than when he held his dad's wand; less like he was trying to force water through a tiny straw and more like the water was a freely flowing river.

“Cast a _Lumos_ for me, please,” Ollivander requested, looking quite happy to have Neville matched with a good wand. Neville nodded and then cast the charm, a surprised cry leaving him when his wand lit far more brightly than his old one ever had. He quickly ended the charm, blinking away the spots in his eyes.

“Ah. You must have been forcing your magic through your father's wand quite intensely to get that kind of response from yours,” Ollivander said. “You'll have to learn how to moderate your power output before doing much more than first year spells.”

Neville nodded, still rather stunned that his magic was so strong. His grandmother had a curious expression on her face, one that Neville had never seen before.

“And how much do we owe you?” she asked. Ollivander smiled, the expression more than a little airy.

“Oh, seven Galleons and a Knut for luck,” he said. Augusta handed over the coins with a lopsided smile.

“Come, Neville. We need to stop by Gringotts briefly before we return you to school,” Augusta told her grandson. Neville clutched his hand tightly around his wand, curious to see what his grandmother had in store. When they arrived at the Longbottom Family vault and had entered it, Augusta turned to Neville and held out her hand.

“Your father's wand, please.”

Neville handed it over, weirdly grateful to have it out of his possession. Augusta took the wand over to a shelf that held stands with other wands resting on them. She placed the wand on its stand, setting it carefully down. She stepped back, taking in a shaky breath before steadying herself.

“Right. I think it's time you pick out a dimensional store,” she said, turning away from the wands, her eyes suspiciously bright. “Choose whichever feels best to you.”

Neville looked over at the shelf that held a small collection of dimensional storage bracelets and then headed over, lightly brushing his fingers over them until he picked up one that made his fingers tingle pleasantly. It was made from mithril and had a broad-branched oak engraved on its top. Neville clasped it around his right wrist and stored his wand there, adding a drop of blood to the top of the store to bind it to his magic only.

“Good choice.” Augusta paused. “Neville... I'm sorry.”

“Wh-what?” Neville stammered, eyes wide.

“I shouldn't have forced you to use your father's wand,” she said. “I just-”

“I miss him too, Gran,” Neville said quietly. “Him and Mum. What happened to them wasn't- wasn't fair. But... but at least we still get to see them and talk to them. N-not everyone's that lucky.”

“You're friends with the Potter heir, right?”

Neville nodded.

“Harry's a good friend, Gran, and he was the one who insisted I should go to Professor Sprout about my wand. He's also the one who suggested getting that set of subject guides. It's helped me a lot in pretty much every subject, especially Potions.”

“I'm glad you two were able to connect,” Augusta said approvingly. “All finished?”

“Yes, Gran.”

“Good. Let's get you back to school before you're missed too much.”

The two of them left the vault and then the bank entirely, heading back down the Alley and to the Leaky Cauldron. One thankfully short Floo ride later and they were stepping out of the fireplace in Professor Sprout's office.

“Did everything go alright?” Sprout asked, looking up from her work.

“Yes, ma'am,” Neville said, producing his wand from his dimensional store. He showed it to her before putting it away.

“Congratulations,” Sprout told him. “Now, it's almost time for lunch. You'd best run along if you want to get a good seat with your friends.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

Neville hesitated briefly before quickly hugging his grandmother and then heading out of the office. He went up the stairs to the Great Hall, joining Harry and the others at the end of the Ravenclaw table. Their mixed group had grown, with some more Slytherins and even a few Gryffindors who'd been brave enough to join them. Percy Weasley had appointed himself as one of the overseers of the group, and after a short while, the general consensus was that he was a raven hiding in the lions' den.

Once he'd realized that his attempts to be as adult and officious as possible at fifteen weren't exactly working on the gathered group of eleven year olds, Percy relaxed considerably, especially since he didn't have to worry about dealing with any of his siblings for the time being. One of his fellow prefects, Penelope Clearwater, had joined him in his mentor role, and her presence seemed to help him relax even further.

Percy and Penelope both knew quite a bit about the various core subjects, and were quite happy to answer pretty much any question the first years could throw at them. Percy's strengths lay more in Transfiguration and Charms, while Penelope was fond of Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. They helped the first years with their homework as needed, though not to the point of doing their homework for them.

The other Gryffindor who'd joined them was Parvati Patil, Padma's twin sister. The two were quite happily chatting away, catching up on their first few weeks at Hogwarts since they didn't have many classes together. Neville found a seat near Percy, who looked up from the essay he'd been proofreading.

“Ah, hello, Neville. We were wondering where you'd gotten off to. Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Neville confirmed as he sat down. “Professor Sprout called me to her office because my Gran was waiting there for me. We went to Diagon and finally got me a wand that actually matches me much better than my dad's old one.”

“Good. I'm glad for you to finally have a wand that'll be a good partner,” Percy said, setting down his red-inked quill with the nib on a special rest that would keep it from dripping on the table. “What kind of wood is it?”

“Cherry with unicorn hair.” Neville took his wand out from his dimensional store and showed it to Percy, who looked it over without touching it.

“Very nice.” Percy hummed. “Mine is pearwood and phoenix feather.”

“Cool.”

Neville put his wand away and then looked over the choices of food that had appeared on the table in front of them. He chose some lightweight food, keeping in mind that the Halloween feast that night would have a lot of rich food available. That had him pausing and then looking around for Harry.

“Where... where's Harry?” he asked. Percy hummed.

“Heir Black showed up and took him home for the night,” he said. “Harry will be back tomorrow morning.”

Neville's brow furrowed. “Why would he-” He stopped, his eyes widening. “Oh. _Oh_. Merlin, I'm an idiot.” His shoulders slumped. “I'm a horrible friend, aren't I? I totally didn't even think about what Halloween means for them.”

Percy put his hand comfortingly on Neville's shoulder. “No, no, it's just...” He sighed heavily. “We've had ten years to celebrate the downfall of You-Know-Who. Harry and Heir Black haven't really had the chance to mourn the Potters. Harry didn't know, and Heir Black... Well, he was in Azkaban, and I doubt he had enough energy to focus on mourning his friends.”

Neville sighed. “I feel bad about celebrating now. I feel like we should do something to honor them and the others who died in that war.”

Percy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “There are some rituals we can do, but they're part of the Old Ways, and not everyone follows those. I've come across mentions of them in my personal studies.”

“That might be interesting,” Neville said. “People won't be mad if we do one of the rituals?”

“They're usually pretty private, so you don't have to tell anyone, but they're not illegal if that's what you're worried about. I wouldn't encourage you to do something against the law.” Percy paused. “Well, not in this case. It would depend on the law, I think, and the reason you may need to break it.”

Neville laughed. “Alright. I won't break any laws without checking with you first,” he said. “So, the rituals... Where can we find more information about them?”

“The library may have some information, but I can see if I have anything in my trunk,” Percy offered. “We'll meet up before dinner and discuss it. Does that sound alright?”

“Sounds great. Do you mind if I invite a few others?”

“Not a lot, since we don't know if we'll have anywhere to hold it, but I'm sure there are some who may be interested,” Percy said. “Go on and eat your lunch and don't worry about it, alright?”

Neville nodded and then turned his attention to his food, his thoughts wandering. He felt distracted most of the day, though he could see a marked improvement with his spells in Charms and Transfiguration thanks to his new wand. He was excited to see what Percy came up with that night, as he really wanted to honor those who had passed on before. It felt much better than just stuffing his face with candy and other sweets.

Once classes were over, Neville made his way to the Great Hall and looked around for Percy. The older boy was sitting at the Gryffindor table, his brothers sitting near him. Ron was looking around at the grand decorations, though he did seem eager for the feast to begin so he could eat as many sweets as he could manage without making himself sick. Neville wasn't particularly fond of Ron, but they'd never really gotten along very well even before attending Hogwarts.

Pushing his faint distaste of Ron to the back of his mind, Neville approached Percy. He opened his mouth to talk to Percy but Ron beat him to the punch.

“What're you doing here, Longbottom? You're not a Gryffindor. Shouldn't you be over at the 'Puff table?”

“I came here to talk to your brother, Ron,” Neville said, barely containing the urge to roll his eyes. “Percy, were you able to find anything?”

Percy shook his head. “Sorry, Neville. Nothing particularly concrete. I do remember that lighting a beeswax taper candle and leaving it in a window is part of one of the more simpler remembrance rituals, though.”

Neville perked up at that. He could easily get one of those from a house elf, either Hogwarts or Longbottom, and he was sure he could find a window in Hufflepuff that looked out over the school grounds. That, or he could find somewhere higher up that would work.

“Thanks!” he said happily. “I'll do that later. Enjoy the feast!”

As Neville turned away, he could hear Ron badgering Percy about what was going on and why he'd been talking to Neville about candles and remembrance rituals. Neville ignored him easily thanks to the practice he'd had over the years and headed over to the Hufflepuff table. He did his best to focus on the healthier options, but with so much candy nearby, it was hard. As soon as the feast was over, Neville searched for a good place to light and leave his candle in Hufflepuff House. It was difficult, and eventually he had to leave the common room entirely in order to find a window that overlooked the lake.

For some reason, he felt that was the best place to have the candle rest, though Neville couldn't entirely say why. The answer to his quest lay in a secluded alcove on the fourth floor, a window tucked into the curve of the wall with a padded bench in front of it. Neville sat cross-legged on the bench, took a deep breath, and then spoke.

“Um, excuse me? May I have a Hogwarts elf here, please?”

He wasn't sure if anyone was listening, but much to his pleased surprise, an elf dressed in a tea towel with the Hogwarts crest appeared shortly after his request was made.

“What can Mitzy do for the young 'Puff?” the elf asked curiously.

“Would you be able to bring me a beeswax taper candle, please?” Neville asked. “And maybe a matchbox as well? We haven't learned the flame spell yet.”

“Mitzy can do this.” The elf snapped her fingers, the requested taper and matchbox appearing on the broad stone windowsill in front of Neville, the candle held steady in a pewter candlestick. She gave him a curious look. “Can Mitzy ask why you needs these?”

Neville picked up the matchbox and took out one of the matches contained within. “I want to honor those who came before me,” he said as he closed the matchbox and then carefully lit the match, “but I don't really know any of the more complex rituals.” He touched the match to the candle wick, holding it steady until the wick caught. “Would... Do you know any?”

Mitzy clambered up onto the bench across from Neville after a moment of hesitation and then settled herself into a seated position. “Mitzy knows you is The Gryffindor's friend,” she said. “Mitzy has been around Hogwarts for five hundred years. She will tell you about what she has seen.”

Neville sat back and listened to Mitzy talk, the flickering light of the candle reflecting in the thick glass of the window and providing a guiding light home to all those who were lost.

  


Harry returned to school the next day, looking tired but happy nonetheless. He was relatively quiet during classes, but once Neville quietly reminded some of their friends why that was the case, they'd stopped asking Harry about what was going on. There was more than one embarrassed reaction at the reminder that Harry had lost his parents, even though everyone knew that Halloween was when the elder Potters had died.

Harry didn't mind, as while he hadn't had the chance to mourn his parents for the past decade, the prior night had been surprisingly therapeutic. Arcturus had led the surprisingly simple ritual to honor the dead, and then Sirius had shared quite a few memories of Lily and James with them, using the Black Family Pensieve to show Harry his parents' wedding and some lighter memories when Harry was only a few months old. Harry had loved seeing his parents, but it had really hit him to know that they were barely a decade older than he was currently when they'd died.

He wondered if they'd approve of who he was now, but then again, had they lived, he would likely have been an entirely different person. Harry hoped that his parents were happy wherever they might be and proud of him. Sirius certainly was, so Harry was content with that until he could speak with his parents himself.

The next few months passed swiftly, and soon the Christmas holidays were upon them. Hermione was going home for the holidays, and Harry knew he was going to miss seeing her every day. His magic still tingled excitedly every time they were near, and he resolved to ask Sirius about it since he had wanted to keep it to himself for a little while until he could sit down with his dad and ask about it in private. As much as he liked using the communication mirrors, there wasn't always the chance to make sure that he was in a quiet or entirely private space, so asking about something that sensitive meant Harry had to wait until a better time.

The ride home on the train was a relatively quiet one, with Harry and Hermione in a compartment with Neville and a few of their other friends. They parted ways at the station, Harry joining his dad with pink cheeks after Hermione had hugged him goodbye. He liked her hugs, as she always hugged him just right- not too tight but not too loosely either. The reason for his faint blushing was the fact that Hermione had kissed him on the cheek quickly before darting off to join her parents beyond the portal into the Mundane world.

Sirius was waiting for him near the bank of Floos, an indulgent smile on his face. “Have a good ride home?”

“Yeah, it was alright,” Harry said, his cheeks still feeling pleasantly warm from his encounter with Hermione. “Nothing really spectacular happened.”

“Sometimes that's the best kind of ride. Ready to go home?”

Harry grinned. “Definitely.”

Sirius led the way over to the Floos, waiting in line before dropping four Sickles in the collection jar. He took a handful of powder from the nearby bin, allowed Harry to do the same, and then tossed his powder into the nearest open fireplace.

Two calls of “Potter Manor!” one after another and they were off, arriving at the ancestral Potter home a minute or so later. Harry brushed a bit of ash off of himself as he stepped out of the fireplace and into the receiving room. Sirius was already handing off his cloak to Jasper, who popped away with the garment in order to get it cleaned and then put away. Most magical beings assumed that if a house elf was given any piece of clothing by their master that it would free the elf, but the elf either had to want to leave their master's service- which was a rarity -or the master had to purposefully dismiss their elf from their service. Otherwise, cleaning and laundry would never get properly done.

Harry gave his cloak to Lulu with a murmured thanks before following Sirius out of the receiving room and into the manor proper. They ended up in one of the sitting rooms, Sirius sprawling lazily on a couch while Harry sat near him on a loveseat, taking off his boots and then curling his legs underneath him. A mug of hot cocoa with quite a few tiny marshmallows popped into being on the side table next to the loveseat, a matching one appearing not far from Sirius on a coffee table.

Harry picked up his cocoa and then took a sip, a pleased hum leaving him at the rich chocolate flavor and the sweetness of the marshmallows.

“So,” he said once he'd finished swallowing, “what're the plans for the holiday?”

“Well, I'd like to take you to the Winter Wizengamot session,” Sirius began, wrapping his hands around his mug and soaking in the warmth. “It's traditional for those with seats on the 'Gamot to start to take their heirs after they turn eleven. We'll be sitting in the Potter box, though the Black box isn't too far away, so you'll see Granddad while we're there. We'll be going back and forth between the two manors over the break, so no need to worry about that. We've also been invited to the Malfoy Yule Ball on the twenty-first. They'll be joining us at Ravenswood Keep on Christmas Day to celebrate with the whole family. You'll get to meet Cousin Andy and her family there.” He smiled. “It'll be good to see her again. Her parents... they weren't exactly happy with her running off and marrying a Mundaneborn, especially not one they didn't approve of. They told her she was disowned, but only Granddad can fully excise someone from the Family Magics.”

“Did Great-Granddad welcome her back into the Family?” Harry asked curiously. Sirius nodded.

“Yeah, he did. Her and her whole family. She has a daughter who just graduated Hogwarts this summer.”

“Cool.” Harry drank some more of his cocoa, feeling warm and comfortable. It nearly reminded him of the feeling he got around Hermione, which had him thinking about his best friend, which led him to setting his mug down.

“Hey, uh, Dad?”

Sirius looked over at him and then sat up straight when he saw the conflicted expression on Harry's face. “What's going on? You look like you've got a Snitch in your hat.”

Harry laughed a little. “It's, uh, it's Hermione. She... She's my best friend.”

“Alright. That much I know, but something tells me that that's not all you want to talk about,” Sirius said.

Harry smiled lopsidedly. “You're not... you're not wrong. She... When I first met her on the train to Hogwarts, my magic reacted to her presence. It was like we'd met before but of course we hadn't, and now every time I'm around her my magic tingles. It doesn't hurt or anything, and I don't know if it happens to her as well, but the only other person my magic really reacts to like that is Neville, and I think that's because he's my godbrother. Have you ever heard of anything like that happening before?”

Sirius rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he sat back in his chair. “Hm. That's a new one for me, but that doesn't mean it's not important,” he said. “It almost sounds like- We may have to make an extra stop while we're at the Ministry over the break. Actually, no, we _will_ make that stop.”

“Stop where?”

“To the Book of Souls,” Sirius told him. “It's kept in a room near the Department of Mysteries. Witches and wizards are lucky in that sometimes Lady Magic decides to gift us with soulmates that are our perfect match in magic, heart, and mind. I... My soulmate died during the war. That doesn't mean I won't ever think about getting married and happily so, but it just won't be my soulmate. You don't _have_ to marry your soulmate, though it's often considered odd that you don't if you have one since that's the match the Lady has made specifically for you. The Book of Souls will tell you if you have a soulmate and who it is.”

“What if... what if it's not Hermione? What then?”

“Then we'll figure it out at that point, but for now, we won't worry about it,” Sirius said. “The Winter Session is three days away, so you won't have too much time to fret about it.”

“I appreciate it,” Harry said. “I really want to know what's causing this.”

“We'll figure it out, pup, trust me,” Sirius assured him. “Finish your cocoa and then we'll figure out what we want to do for dinner. I think I saw Koko and Lulu starting to make roast beef earlier today, and my stomach has definitely been rumbling ever since...”

Harry laughed, which he figured was his dad's whole point. It certainly helped him from not over-focusing on the situation with Hermione. The next three days were spent settling in for the holidays and generally lazing around, though Sirius did have to prepare some paperwork for the next Session. Thankfully, the Winter Session wasn't usually the busiest of times for the Wizengamot, but there were still issues that had to be raised and voted on like always.

When the day of the Winter Session came, Harry found that Koko had laid out a semi-formal day robe in a dark red with subtle gold trim at the hem, as well as an accompanying outfit of a white dress shirt and black slacks to go underneath, a pair of dragonhide boots in his size finishing off the ensemble. The Potter coat of arms was embroidered over Harry's heart on the day robe, picked out in shimmering silver colored thread to denote the fact that Harry had yet to take up his Lordship. When he did, the thread would be changed to gold for any special occasion.

Harry got ready, wrinkling his nose at his reflection in the mirror once he was done. He felt ridiculous in the winter-weight day robe, but at least it wasn't as bad as what the Headmaster wore on a daily basis. His hair was as messy as ever, and according to James's portrait, could only be tamed either by dumping a gallon of Sleekeasy's hair potion on it or by growing it out long. For the time being, Harry was happy to keep it at its current length, though he could always change that as he grew up.

Once he was suitably ready to go, Harry headed down to the informal dining room, only to find Sirius already there. His dad was dressed in semi-formal clothes as well, his deep plum Wizengamot outer robes draped over the back of the chair next to him. He looked up when Harry entered the room, setting the spoon he'd been using to eat his oatmeal with back down in the bowl.

“Harry! Looking sharp.”

Harry laughed as he sat down across from his dad, his own bowl of oatmeal with his preferred brown sugar and sliced strawberries in it appearing in front of him, along with a glass of milk and his mealtime potion dose. Harry downed the potion, set the vial aside, and then picked up his spoon.

“Thanks. You look good too. Ready for the meeting?”

Sirius sighed. “As ready as I'll ever be. Fair warning, it's probably going to be pretty boring, so I'd recommend bringing a book or two. The Sessions usually last about three hours, but sometimes can go longer than that if people drag it out. There's a break halfway through to allow us to stretch our legs, and the boxes each have their own private toilet and sink, so if you need to use the bathroom, you can. The house elves can also pop into the box if need be.”

“We'll be sitting in the Potter box, right?” Harry asked between bites of food.

“Mmhm. While I'm acting as your regent, I have to sit in the Potter box,” Sirius explained, “and once you take up the Potter lordship, I'll be sitting in the Black box as the heir until Granddad either passes the lordship along to me or... Well. Anyways. Hopefully that'll be a while.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. He liked having a great-grandfather and didn't want Arcturus to pass away any time soon. Thankfully, magical people tended to live far longer than non-magical ones, so Arcturus had another hundred years or so to head the Blacks and guide them in the correct direction, assuming he didn't step down before he died.

As soon as Harry and Sirius were done with their breakfasts, they left Potter Manor via the Floo. The Ministry atrium was beautiful, its dark wood floor highly polished and reflecting the peacock blue ceiling high overhead. Harry's eye was immediately caught by the fountain in the center of the atrium that had golden statues featured in it. The closer he and Sirius got to it, the higher Harry's eyebrows rose.

“Wh- Are they being serious right now?” he asked his dad. Sirius looked down at him and then followed his sightline to the fountain and then sighed.

“Ah. Yeah, that's not... It was commissioned by a Minister of Magic about two hundred years ago. It's called the Fountain of Magical Brethren,” he explained. “People put coins in the basin and the proceeds go to Saint Mungo's. There've been attempts to get it changed to something less... worship-like, I guess, but it keeps getting shot down. Tradition and all that.”

Harry huffed as they approached the station for their wand check. When he took up his lordship, changing that stupid fountain to something less cringe-worthy would be on his list of important things to get done. After passing through the checkpoint, they went to the bank of elevators and took one of them down to Level Nine and then down a flight of stairs to Level Ten where the Wizengamot chamber was located. The reasoning behind the winter-weight robes was suddenly apparent, as while yes, it was cold outside, the fact that they were so far down below ground kept things colder, even with liberal use of environmental charms and wards.

The Wizengamot chamber itself was easily the size of the atrium several floors above, with tiered sets of viewing boxes arranged around the circular walls. There was an audience area where petitioners could be heard down below that had a polished dark wood floor, though there was what looked like a flat circle of pale gray stone in the center, providing a stark contrast to the dark wood around it. Harry followed Sirius up a flight of richly carpeted stairs and then down a curving hallway until they reached a door that had the Potter crest painted on it in gold.

Sirius placed a hand on the crest and pushed a bit of magic into it, making the crest shimmer briefly before the door opened. The box beyond had three chairs in it: one central one and then one to either side of it. All three looked quite comfortable, and there were small tables set between the central chair and its fellows. Harry spotted a discreet door tucked away in a corner that he presumed led to the bathroom Sirius had mentioned earlier.

Sirius went over to the main chair, took a seat, and then drew his wand before setting it into a niche on the left armrest. The wand clicked into place softly as Sirius turned to look at Harry.

“You'll want the chair on the left, as that's traditionally the heir's chair,” he said. “The one on the right is usually reserved for a noble's wife or Consort, and the one in the center for the sitting Family Head or Regent.”

“Got it. Do I have to put my wand in the chair?” Harry asked, making his way to his chair and then taking a seat. His magic shivered pleasantly inside him once he'd fully sat down, making him feel like he'd sunk into a warm bath. Harry wondered what it felt like for Sirius to sit in the regent's chair.”

“No, you don't. Having my wand in the slot on my chair activates the wards and tells the magic of the Wizengamot that I've arrived and am ready to vote. I can press on it to make my voice heard if necessary.”

“Very cool.”

Sirius laughed. “Definitely. You can get up and look around if you want. I bet you can spot some of your schoolmates from here. We're pretty high up. The only higher box is the royal one, but that hasn't been used since the time of Queen Elizabeth the First. She was a witch, but so far none of the royals after her have been magical or magical enough to get invited to a magical school. We're keeping an eye on the most recent batch just in case.”

“Huh. Why don't we learn about that in school?” Harry asked as he got up and headed over to the railing at the front of the box. “All we're learning about in History of Magic are various goblin rebellions. Binns is super boring, too. He sounds like a vacuum cleaner with the way he drones on.”

Harry leaned against the railing and looked out over the rest of the chamber. The Potter box was pretty high up, but he figured that was because of the Gryffindor legacy. There were a few other boxes on the same level, but not by much. He noticed that as the various boxes became occupied, the crests on their fronts lit up, presumably when the sitting Lord or Lady put their wands in their slots. He looked around to see if he could spot anyone he knew, a smile breaking out when he spotted Neville sitting down one row and across the way.

Harry waved at him, and much to his pleased surprise, Neville saw him and then waved back. Harry sat down in his chair when a chime sounded and the lights dimmed momentarily, figuring the session was going to start. Two glasses of ice water and a chilled jug appeared on the table between Sirius and Harry, sent by one of the Potter elves in preparation for the start of the session.

A flurry of brightly colored robes near the audience floor caught Harry's attention, making him grimace at the sight of Dumbledore in holly green robes with variously colored snowflakes drifting lazily across the fabric. It wasn't the worst thing he'd seen Dumbledore wear, but it didn't exactly scream-- Harry wrinkled his nose as he tried to remember what Dumbledore's title on the Wizengamot was. Ah, yes. High Warlock. The robes didn't have the right gravitas for that heavy sounding title, but Harry had to wonder if that was the whole point.

It was like a stage magician using flashpaper and smoke to pull off a particularly complex illusion. Misdirect the attention from what one hand was doing and the audience wouldn't catch on to what the other hand was accomplishing until it was too late. Harry had never trusted stage or street magicians on the few times he'd managed to slip away from the Dursleys at school events or street fairs, and wondered if that was because he knew somehow that _real_ magic was nothing like what was being shown or if the Dursleys' prejudice against magic had infected him, albeit only a little bit.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Winter Wizengamot Session of 1991,” Dumbledore announced after a second chime rang out through the chamber. “It is wonderful to see you all looking so hale and hearty during this particularly cold time of the year. I see that we have some young heirs amongst our body today, so please keep that in mind when we open the floor to new issues.”

Dumbledore turned to a man sitting at a table to his right. “Recorder Ogden, any remaining items from the prior Session?”

Ogden rustled through a small stack of parchment before him, quickly skimming over the minutes from the prior Session. “I don't see any remaining items, Chief Warlock, but we should open the floor for any updates for items from the prior Session. I believe Lord Diggory was going to do further research into the Khonsu Amulet and the viability of importing it for our population of werebeings?”

“Ah, yes.” Dumbledore turned back to the chamber at large. “Lord Diggory?”

Harry leaned forward in his chair, immediately curious about what the findings would be. He hoped that they would find the amulets beneficial to import given how much healthier Professor Lupin seemed to be with it- the man no longer looked like he was at least ten years older than his thirty-one years of age and didn't have to take time off during the days of the full moon unless absolutely necessary -and it would mean that a small but still not insignificant portion of the magical population would be able to hold jobs far more easily than they did at the present amongst other things.

Lord Diggory was a tall man with a faintly ruddy face and neat brown hair. When he pressed his wand to speak, his box floated out from the wall a few feet in order to show that he had the floor. Lord Diggory stood and approached the railing of his box, a piece of parchment in hand.

“My fellow members of the Wizengamot, my findings are thus,” he began after adjusting his glasses. “The magical device known as the Khonsu Amulet has been proven to be far superior in its effects when compared to the Wolfsbane Potion, and far less prohibitively expensive. I worked with my equivalent in the Egyptian Ministry of Magic and they said that the amulets have been on record as the premier method of control for werebeings of all types for millennia. We have had a test group of ten werewolves using them ever since word came from the ICW about the efficacy of the amulets, including Professor Remus Lupin, current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. All ten werewolves report that there is little to no pain when transforming and that they retain all sense of self and sanity. Professor Lupin has reported that even if the full moon is visible during a portion of the day that he does not feel the need to transform, and the others have corroborated this finding.

“In short, I believe- and the ICW agrees with me -that paying a one-time fee of five Galleons for a lifetime of protection is well worth the cost of importing the amulets across international borders. If it means that werewolves can live productive lives throughout the month and be able to do so without harming themselves or others, then I say we change the import laws and allow this device to be sold in our communities. Thank you.”

He sat back down and his box returned to its place amongst the others. A murmur of conversation rippled around the chamber until a chime insistently rang out down near a row of seats near the audience floor. Harry had to crane his neck to see what was going on, wincing until Sirius nudged him and then showed him a small floating screen within the box that allowed them to see the areas down below their box.

Harry nodded and focused on the screen, nose wrinkling at the sheer amount of sickly pink that assaulted his eyes. The woman dressed in all that pink looked like a toad that had somehow been transfigured into a human, and the bow she was wearing didn't help matters in dispelling that thought. Harry looked over to see how Sirius was reacting, and the level of resigned annoyance his dad was currently expressing had him thinking that the woman was a common and rather unwanted fixture around the Wizengamot.

“Yes, Madam Umbridge?” Dumbledore asked politely. “What do you have to bring before this body?”

“A protest, Chief Warlock, against this ridiculousness,” Umbridge said. Harry winced at the tone of her voice. It sent shivers down his spine and not in any good way.

“Ridiculousness?”

“Yes, ridiculousness. Werewolves are highly dangerous beings regardless of the time of month. Fenrir Greyback has been known to be able and willing to infect anyone during his existence. What's stopping all the other werewolves from doing the same? Will they continue to be required to register with the Ministry, or are we abolishing the registry entirely once those beasts are given these amulets? Will they continue to be required to disclose that they're werewolves? I'm sure the others in this august body would want to know the answers to these questions before we jump headfirst into a solution _supposedly_ approved by the ICW,” Umbridge said before sitting down in her chair once more.

“She's not serious, is she?” Harry muttered to his dad.

“Deadly serious, unfortunately,” Sirius said with a sigh. “She hates werewolves and pretty much anything that isn't human.”

Harry frowned heavily before nudging Sirius. “Can I speak? Is there anything against that in the rules?”

Sirius's eyebrows rose. “You'd want to do that?”

“Yeah, especially if it means helping Professor Lupin. He's an amazing teacher,” Harry said. “Is that against the rules?”

Sirius tapped his chin thoughtfully and then shook his head. “Not that I know of, but let me introduce you first.”

He pressed his wand and then waited to be acknowledged. It took Dumbledore a considerable amount of time- far longer than he'd taken when acknowledging Umbridge -to allow Sirius to speak.

“Yes, Heir Black?”

“Actually, I'm speaking in my role as Regent Potter, as you well know, Chief Warlock,” Sirius reminded him as the Potter box moved forward, “as I will until Heir Potter takes up his lordship. Speaking of Heir Potter, he has requested that he be allowed to speak on the current topic before this body.”

Dumbledore leaned forward. “Oh?”

“Yes, sir. If that's aright with the rest of the Wizengamot,” Sirius said. He waited for anyone to protest before he gestured for Harry to step forward to the railing. Harry got up from his seat and approached the railing, resting his hands on it to give himself an anchor point.

“Um, hi. I just wanted to say something about this whole thing,” he began. “Professor Lupin has been teaching us for the past three and a half months or so, and I don't think anyone has ever felt like he's a danger to us. He's a great teacher and a kind person, and honestly I tend to forget he's a werewolf most of the time. Sure, he seems to like his steak a bit more rare than most, but that's not exactly a reason to call him a beast or think that he'll go on a rampage or something like that. If he was going to bite any of us, he would've done that by now, but he hasn't. I've heard a lot of older students say that he's the best Defense teacher they've ever had. And- and you know what? Maybe being a werewolf is a good thing for his job because he can help us understand what it's like in a safe way and he can answer our questions. I think that having the ability to talk to someone about their experiences is a good thing, and if the amulets mean that more werewolves can do that and live good lives, then why worry about them?”

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It's like... We're all given wands at eleven, right? One of the first things I was told at school was that my wand is to be treated very carefully, because it can both do good and do harm. I don't want to harm anyone if I don't have to, and I'm sure the werewolves are the same. There are people who want to hurt other people, of course, but they're a small part of the world usually. Just because people like Voldemort had a wand doesn't automatically make the rest of us evil. Why not focus on the people who are hurting others and leave those who aren't alone to live their lives? Um... Yeah. That's... that's all I had to say. Thank you for listening.”

Harry returned to his chair as Sirius pressed his wand again to make the Potter box float back to its place. Only when it had stopped moving did Sirius turn to look at him, a giant grin on his face.

“You are amazing, Harry,” he said, “and don't let anyone tell you anything different.”

“Did I do alright?” Harry asked after he took a drink of his water. “I didn't really have anything prepared, but I couldn't _not_ speak either.”

“That's alright,” Sirius assured him. “Not everyone has to have a speech prepared all the time. You spoke from your heart, and that's what matters.”

Harry nodded and then settled back in his chair, watching the rest of the Wizengamot talk and deliberate amongst themselves. Eventually Dumbledore called for a vote on the matter, and Harry was ecstatic to see that the vote to allow the amulets to be sold at cost to the werebeings of the British Magical World far outweighed the vote against it. The amulets would be bought by the Ministry and then immediately offered to those on the Werewolf Registry for five Galleons apiece.

The rest of the Session turned out to be pretty boring, and Harry was glad for Sirius's suggestion to bring something to read or work on. He was able to finish the homework he'd been given over break by the time the Session had paused for lunch. He had Lulu pop his work back to his desk at home and then followed his dad out of the Potter box and to the Ministry cafeteria where several of the other Wizengamot members were milling around.

Harry perked up when he spotted Neville and Augusta and pulled Sirius over to where the Longbottoms were, weaving through the crowd until he ended up in front of his friend. Neville smiled at him, shaking his head in amusement.

“Only you, Harry,” he said with a laugh. “You got the whole Wizengamot to listen to you at age _eleven_.”

Harry shrugged. “Lord Diggory already did all the hard work. I just wanted to make sure that people wouldn't listen to the lies that Umbridge lady was saying.”

“Well, you certainly did that, young heir,” Augusta told him. “A little more refinement and something tells me you'll have them dancing to your tune when you're of age.”

“I don't want them to think what I tell them,” Harry said with a frown. “I just want them to think for themselves.”

“Good luck with that one,” Sirius muttered. Augusta shot him a disapproving look, but couldn't entirely hide the amusement lurking at the corners of her mouth and eyes.

“Why don't we get these two some food and drinks before we have to go back in?” she suggested. “I know I could use at least a coffee myself after all of that.”

“Sure,” Sirius agreed easily. The four of them got their food and drink from the food line and then found a table, Neville and Harry sitting next to one another while the adults sat across from them. The two boys immediately struck a conversation about their plans for the holiday break. Harry was happy to hear that Neville would be at the Malfoy Yule Ball, as it meant he would have someone there besides his family that he knew and could talk to if and when he got bored.

The call for them to return to the Wizengamot chamber came about twenty minutes later. The four of them parted ways once they arrived at the chamber, Sirius and Harry returning to the Potter box and settling in there. The rest of the session passed without incident. Harry alternated between reading a book and listening to what was going on.

When the session ended, Sirius led Harry out of the chamber and up the flight of stairs they'd taken earlier. Instead of going for the elevator, the two of them went down a side corridor and then entered an eerily empty room save for a lectern that had a very large closed book sitting upon it. A person stood near the lectern, voluminous dark blue robes obscuring the shape of their body and a deeply shadowed hood masking their face. When they spoke, Harry had a hard time getting anything from their voice beyond a general sense of sounds that somehow formed into words when they reached his brain.

“ _Ah, Heir Potter-Black.. I was wondering when I would see you_ ,” they said. “ _I am the Keeper of the Book of Souls. You merely need to place your hand upon the book and state your full name and titles. If there is a match for you, then the Book will open and the name of your soulmate will appear there._ ”

“Thank you,” Harry said, barely resisting the urge to shake his head to clear his ears of water. After one last glance at his dad, Harry made his way over to the Book, going up the small step-stool that sat in front of it. He took a deep breath in and then let it out slowly before setting his hand on the Book.

“Harry James Potter, Heir Potter and Heir Peverell, future Earl of Gryffindor.”

The Book stayed quiescent for several long moments, making Harry think that maybe he'd been wrong, but then it shivered under his palm. His hand was pushed away as the heavy leather cover opened of its own accord and the pages flipped rapidly until they stopped about two-thirds of the way in. Writing appeared on the page in shimmering gold ink as if written elegantly there by an invisible hand.

_Let it be known that Harry James Potter and Hermione Jane Granger are fated soulmates and have been eternally bound by the wishes of Magic and have been fated to return again and again as Magic wills it. An ill and terrible fate will befall all those who attempt to sunder this binding._

Harry read the words several times over, his brow furrowing.

“What.. What does it mean when it says that Hermione and I 'have been fated to return again and again as Magic wills it'?” he asked, turning to look at the others. He missed the way the page detached itself from the Book and rolled itself up into a neat scroll before being tied up with a golden ribbon around the middle. It came to rest on top of the closed Book, the ends of the ribbon fluttering gently as it settled into place.

“ _It means that this is not your first time treading the world, young one, and nor will it be the last. The Fated are usually seen during times of great change for the magical world, and not just the British one. There is no way that humans have to retrieve who you may have once been, though it is possible that others have been graced by the Lady with that gift. It has been some time since a Fated has been seen in Britain. I believe the last may have been Salazar Slytherin and his lady wife, but there may be some that simply haven't come to the Book for confirmation._ ”

The Keeper gestured at the scroll. “ _Take that record, Heir Potter-Black, and keep it safe. None but yourself and your soulmate will be able to read it, but there will always be those who try to discover what is not theirs to know. Magic will protect your mind and your soulmate's so that those who may wish to rummage around cannot see your secret._ ”

Harry's mind immediately flashed to Dumbledore. If the Headmaster ever got wind of Harry and Hermione being soulmates, then Harry highly doubted the two of them would ever see any sort of peace. He took the scroll and tucked it away in his dimensional store, breathing a sigh of relief once it was put away.

“Um... Thank you, I think. I've got... I've got a lot to think about.”

Harry bowed to the Keeper and then left, Sirius hurrying along after him. They left the Ministry, Flooing back to Potter Manor as soon as a fireplace was open. Harry immediately went to his room, flopping on the bed without bothering to take his shoes off. This... This was going to take some time to internalize.

He didn't want to force Hermione into anything, but he also didn't want to miss out on having a soulmate. Harry rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded loosely on his chest. Hermione was already one of his best friends, and he didn't really see that changing over the years, but what if she fell in love with someone once they grew old enough to date? He'd seen some of the fourth years in Ravenclaw beginning to date, which likely gave him about two and a half more years to win Hermione's heart for good, or at the very least, do his best to do so.

Harry blew out a sharp stream of air and then groaned. He was _eleven_ , for Merlin's sake! He shouldn't have to worry about impressing a girl, not at his age. Maybe... Maybe it was best to just let the whole thing go and see if Hermione wound up liking him like that. He didn't like keeping secrets from her, though, and knew deep in his soul that not telling Hermione soon would only end up badly for the both of them.

Harry closed his eyes. He'd tell Hermione when he got back to school. This definitely wasn't something he could say over a letter. He'd just have to find the right time.


	8. Chapter Seven

Hermione was excited to return to Hogwarts now that the Christmas holidays were over. She'd enjoyed spending time with her parents of course, but she'd missed her friends and the sheer _magic_ of the castle. She waved goodbye to her parents just outside the barrier at King's Cross and then ran through the magic portal, immediately looking around for Harry and the others the moment she cleared the gateway. It was still relatively early but she was sure she'd be able to spot them soon enough.

She was grateful for the set of shrinking charms Professor Flitwick had kindly put on her her trunk before she'd left for the holiday, as it meant she didn't have to worry about a cart or lugging the heavy piece of luggage around behind her. Hermione eagerly boarded the train and started checking in each compartment, eventually finding Harry, Neville, and Draco sitting in a compartment about halfway down the train. She knocked on the door to alert them to her presence and then slid it open.

“Is there room for one more?”

Harry shot her a brilliant grin. “For you? Definitely.”

Hermione laughed before entering the compartment and taking a seat next to Harry.

“So,” she said, “how were your holidays? Do anything fun?”

“My parents held their annual Yule Ball,” Draco said, “and then all of the extended Black Family got together. I finally got to meet my aunt Andromeda and cousin Tonks.”

Hermione blinked. “Your cousin's name is Tonks?”

“That's their preferred name,” Draco explained. “Aunt Andy named them Nymphadora, but Tonks hates that, so they use their last name instead.”

“They?”

“They're a Metamorphmagus,” Harry said with a shrug. “It means they can change their appearance to whatever they like, and that means their gender as well. They usually stay in a female form most of the time, but that tends to change with their mood or situation, so unless we know what gender they're using, they've asked we use 'they' and 'them' when talking about them.”

“Then I'll do my best to do as they request,” Hermione said. “Did you do anything else that was fun? Harry? Neville?”

Neville shot Harry a grin. “Do you want to tell her or should I?”

Much to Hermione's surprise, Harry ducked his head and rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. Neville rolled his eyes in amusement.

“We went to the Winter Session of the Wizengamot,” he explained. “It's traditional after an Heir turns eleven to start going to those when they can. Anyways, they were discussing the issue of allowing the Khonsu Amulets to be imported to help the local population of werewolves, and Harry here chimed in with his opinion that it should be allowed. He used Professor Lupin as an example, as well as the fact that not every werewolf is dangerous by comparing it to the fact that not everyone with a wand is bad. I think he took a lot of people off guard, but in a good way.”

Hermione beamed at Harry, her pride in him evident in her expression. “Good for you! You used your voice and got people to listen to you.”

Harry shrugged. “Like I said then, it was Lord Diggory who did all of the hard work. I just wanted to give my perspective on the whole thing. The rest of the meeting was pretty boring, though. I'm not looking forward to the time when I have to be the one talking about taxes and tariffs and all that.”

“Those are important, though,” Draco said. “They're a part of the foundation of our society, or so my father says. But we're eleven. We don't have to start worrying about that for another two years, and even then we'll just be given some very basic things for our estates while the adults handle the really complex things. We'll be given things like basic monthly budgets and other stuff like that.”

Hermione sighed. “I don't have any kind of legacy like that here,” she said, shoulders slumping. “It's kind of disappointing to know I won't have that same kind of deep connection to the magical world as you three.”

“Have you gotten a lineage test?” Neville asked. “You never know, you may have some magical relatives here even if you don't know it right now. There's a theory out there that some people have that Mundaneborns happen because of forgotten families who were lost in the Mundane world for whatever reason.”

“How would I get one of those tests?” Hermione asked eagerly. “There wasn't any mention of them anywhere that I've seen so far.”

“Gringotts,” Draco said. “I know they offer them there. The price is different depending on how detailed you want to get, but you probably wouldn't have to go back very far to find someone magical in your family since you're a pretty powerful witch. Maybe five generations at most, if that.”

“You really think so?” Hermione played absently with her hair as she contemplated that. “It would be amazing to see if I had any magical ancestors. I do hope you're right, Draco. I'll have to talk to my parents about it. Maybe we can go to the bank over the Easter holidays and see what we can find.”

“Good plan,” Draco agreed. “Just imagine what some of the stuffier Purebloods might say if you reawaken an ancient legacy. They'd probably have whole litters of Kneazles.”

“Kneazles?”

“Magical cat-like creatures,” Neville explained. “They're really smart and make good familiars. They mainly look like normal cats, but somewhat bigger than most.”

“Oh.” Hermione laughed. “Yes, I can see why they would have an issue with me having some sort of ancient legacy. Not all Purebloods are nice like you and Draco.”

“Hey, I'm not nice!” Draco protested, earning an eye-roll from the other occupants of the compartment. He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm _not_.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, Draco,” Harry said, not bothering to hide the laughter in his voice. “You're like a hedgehog: prickly on the outside but soft and sweet on the inside.”

Draco glared at him. Harry shrugged it off, as hie cousin's glare was about as menacing as a wet cat's. Harry told him as such, earning another glare that he once again ignored. It wasn't long before the four of them settled into more pleasant pursuits to pass the time, breaking out a modified version of Exploding Snap that minimized the amount of explosions while still keeping the core experience of the game intact.

They arrived at Hogwarts later that evening, the beautiful blanket of snow around Hogsmeade station making the general area look like a postcard. The carriage they took trundled its way up the long driveway to Hogwarts, coming to a halt in front of the main entrance. Harry got out first and then helped the others down, earning a pair of thanks from Neville and Draco and a pleased smile from Hermione that had his stomach twisting pleasantly. He was still anxious about talking with her in regards to their status as soulmates, but the fact that merely a smile had him feeling like he could take on the world had him thinking that maybe he didn't have to worry too much about the outcome, or so he hoped.

The four of them parted ways in the entrance hall, with Draco and Neville heading to the Slytherin and Hufflepuff common rooms respectively while Hermione and Harry made the trek up to Ravenclaw Tower together. Hermione answered the riddle from the door guardian-  _What crawls in the spring and flies in the summer, changing into its painted coat in a room of its own making? “_ A butterfly!” _–_ and then led the way into their common room. 

It felt good to be back in the familiar airy confines of the common room, even though it hadn't been all that long since they'd last left it. Hermione waved to a few of her friends and then followed Harry over to a somewhat secluded alcove they had claimed as their own. No one else had really wanted it since it didn't have any handy desks or a good view out a window, so the two first years had essentially taken it over.

Hermione plopped rather ungracefully into her chair, but her mother wasn't there to chide her for it, so she didn't bother correcting her posture all that much. She looked over at Harry, a frown forming when she saw the uncharacteristically nervous way he was acting.

“Harry? Is everything alright?”

“Huh? Everything's brilliant,” Harry said immediately. Hermione gave him a look of disbelief.

“Harry, you're my best friend. I think I can tell when you're not telling me the truth. What's wrong?”

Harry took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly before speaking. “Um... This is kind of...” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I'll need to call one of my elves here. Just a second. Lulu!”

An elf Hermione had never seen before popped into place next to Harry's chair. Hermione had to hold back a small squeal at how adorable the elf's outfit of a swishy skirt, boots, and little white blouse was, not wanting to make a fool of herself. The elf looked up expectantly at Harry.

“How can Lulu help, Master Harry?”

“Could you ward this alcove for privacy? I need to talk to Hermione about something important but don't want anyone to see or hear it,” Harry requested. Lulu nodded and then snapped her fingers. Hermione shivered at the feel of magic floating through the air. It felt wild and unlike any magic she'd encountered before, but she could tell it wasn't harmful- at least, not to her and Harry.

“Thanks, Lulu,” Harry said, sending a smile Lulu's way. “That's all we needed for now, but if I think of anything else, I'll let you know.”

“Sure thing!”

Lulu popped off again, presumably going back to what she'd been doing before Harry had called for her. Hermione looked around, curious to see what had been done, but she couldn't tell what had happened. She assumed there was some sort of privacy ward in place, even if she couldn't see one. She doubted Lulu would lie to Harry about fulfilling his request, after all.

“What's going on, Harry? Why do we need such a strong privacy ward?” she asked. Harry shifted nervously in his seat before drawing out a rolled up piece of parchment from his dimensional store.

“The Wizengamot wasn't the only place in the Ministry that I went to over the holidays,” he said, rolling the parchment back and forth with his fingers. “There's a room there that holds a very special book. It's called the Book of Souls, and if you put your hand on it and say your name, it tells you if you have a soulmate or not. Soulmates are a very important thing to magical people, apparently, and kind of rare? Um, anyways, my dad took me there because I kept feeling my magic shift every time I was around a particular person, and he thought it might be my magic telling me that was my soulmate.”

Hermione was a smart girl. She knew Harry wouldn't be telling her all of this behind a heavy privacy ward if he didn't mean her, but she wanted him to tell her himself rather than just her blurting it out and stealing his thunder. She smiled encouragingly at him instead, hoping it would help him feel more confident.

“Go on,” she urged. “I won't laugh, I promise. What you have to say is important.”

Harry bit his bottom lip, worrying at it for a moment before holding out the scroll to her. “Here, read this.”

Hermione carefully took the scroll from Harry, her fingertips tingling as they made contact with the parchment. She slid the ribbon off the scroll and then placed it in her lap before she ever-so-gently unrolled the scroll. Hermione's breath caught as she read over the words in shining ink, her eyes widening with every passing second. After reading the scroll several times over, Hermione looked up at Harry, who was watching her anxiously.

“What... what does this mean? For us?” she asked finally.

“Whatever we want,” Harry assured her. “I didn't want to hide it from you, not when it's so important. Only my dad knows, but he's not going to tell anyone, and Magic will keep the secret safe so no one can force any of us to talk about it. No one can pull it from your mind, either.”

“That can happen?”

“It's called Legilimency,” Harry explained. “My dad was telling me about it. My heir ring keeps me protected from it. I can get you something that'll give you the same protection. My father had stuff made for my mum before she became Lady Potter. I'll ask my dad to get something subtle if you want. I bet there's a bracelet or a necklace or- Oof!”

Harry had to steady himself as Hermione launched herself at him in a hug, the parchment kept safely in one of her hands. He hugged her back, entirely bewildered by her reaction.

“Does... Does this mean you're okay with being my soulmate? We don't have to be anything except best friends if you don't want to. We've got a lot of time to decide on anything more than that.”

“Of course I'm okay with being your soulmate, you silly boy,” Hermione told him, leaning back enough to look him in the eyes. “Like you said, we don't have to be anything more than friends-”

“ _Best_ friends,” Harry insisted. “You're one of my best friends. Nev and Draco are the others right now, and that's probably not going to change much in the future. But... yeah.”

Hermione beamed at him, her eyes bright with happiness.

“Compared to everything that happened with you, my holiday was outright boring,” she said with a laugh as she rolled up the parchment and then slid the ribbon back over it, making sure it was snug at the center like it had been before. She handed the whole thing back to Harry, who put it back in his dimensional store for safekeeping. There was a soft sound that reminded the two of them of soap bubbles popping. Suddenly, the soft murmurs of the other inhabitants of the common room reached their ears again.

“Oh, the ward,” Hermione said quietly. “I didn't even notice the common room had stopped making noise, if that makes sense.”

“Of course it does,” Harry said, looking far more relaxed than he had when they'd started their conversation, “but then again, I've become pretty fluent in Hermione-speak, so I got what you meant.”

Hermione stifled a laugh behind her hand, not wanting to disturb any of the others now that they didn't have their privacy ward. She and Harry talked for a while more until the grandfather clock in a corner of the common room chimed nine, signaling that it was time for the first and second years to go to bed. Harry walked Hermione to the girls' staircase before bidding her goodnight. She hugged him once more and then went upstairs, unable to keep the pleased smile off her face as she got ready for bed in her room.

  


Albus watched the Great Hall and the students within contemplatively, his chin resting upon his folded hands. Every plan he'd come up with to try and wrest some measure of control, however small, back over the situation with Harry Potter-Black had ultimately failed. He'd subtly encouraged Dolores Umbridge to go after those wanting to bring the Khonsu Amulets into the country- through a few proxies, of course -but the wretched woman had failed to be of any use. To be honest, the not-so-quiet word around the Ministry was that Fudge was going to try to find a replacement for his Undersecretary before too long given how many people thoroughly disliked her.

Albus had tried to discredit the findings of Lord Diggory, but he hadn't been able to do much through that avenue given that the ICW had backed the research wholeheartedly. Hell, even the bank wasn't paying as much attention to him as they usually did. Once upon a time, he'd been a respected client there, able to do pretty much as he pleased, but the Horde had seemingly turned against him ever since Sirius Black had been released from Azkaban.

The Black Heir was another thorn in his side these days. Often it felt like the younger wizard was two or three steps ahead of him, and Albus hated it. He also hated the way Harry seemed to adore his adoptive father. The boy was _not_ supposed to have found out about that connection, not until Albus had deemed him ready. Still, there was nothing he could do about it now, not since Sirius had so thoroughly and publicly claimed his position as Potter Regent.

The fact that Harry had Sorted into Ravenclaw was annoying as well, but it wasn't like Albus didn't have supporters there, so he wasn't entirely worried about it. He still wasn't sure how that had happened. Hagrid hadn't reported that anything had gone awry on his trip to pick up Harry, and Albus was relatively sure that the half-giant would've talked up the merits of Gryffindor above all other Houses. Perhaps Harry was just more scholarly than expected. The library may have been a favored way to escape his relatives and that could've carried over to his academic life.

Albus mechanically went through the motions of preparing himself a cup of tea, his thoughts miles away. He'd have to keep a closer eye on the Potter heir, it was that simple, and perhaps his friends as well. Neville Longbottom was a suitable friend, and he supposed Hermione Granger was too, but Draco Malfoy was worrisome. Harry seemed to thrive with having a cousin that didn't want to pummel him into the ground at any given moment, and Draco's more harsh Pureblood tendencies appeared to have mellowed quite a bit since the introduction of Harry into his life.

Any immediate planning would have to wait, however. Albus had a meeting in Rome for the ICW after breakfast, and he couldn't be late. He was thankful he didn't have to deal with international Portkeys, as Fawkes could travel any distance and without the horrible disorientation that Portkeys incurred. The fact that it showed off Albus's magical prowess to have a phoenix as a familiar didn't hurt either. He'd appear in the arrivals hall of the ICW and then make his way to his office as usual.

Breakfast passed relatively quickly. Albus made his escape and excuses to the rest of the staff, ignoring or outright missing the exasperated expressions most of them had upon his announcement that he was needed in Rome that day. He swept out of the Great Hall, returning to his quarters in the Headmaster's Tower and changing his robes into something slightly more somber. He still favored rich colors, though, going with a set of robes in a deep midnight blue with sparkling silver constellations scattered across them.

Once he was ready, Albus summoned Fawkes, holding out his arm for his familiar. Fawkes warbled at him reluctantly, not bothering to leave his golden perch. Albus shot him a pointed look.

“Fawkes, we need to leave. Now, to the ICW in Rome, please.”

Fawkes made a discontent noise and then stepped off his perch, shuffling his way up Albus's arm until he was resting on his shoulder. Warmth enveloped Albus as Fawkes transported the two of them away from Hogwarts and to the arrivals hall of the ICW in a flash of phoenix fire. Fawkes vanished almost as soon as Albus landed, leaving him on his own in the arrivals hall. The ICW's entry hall was hardly as ornate as the British Ministry of Magic's, but it was also far older, and its architecture spoke of that.

The ICW was located deep under the Roman Forum, hidden from Mundane detection by heavy wards that were more ancient than even those at Hogwarts or the British Ministry of Magic. It was a sprawling network of offices, meeting and training rooms, and large theaters where conferences or trials could be held as needed. The International Academy of Magic also held some rooms there for various things, though the Academy itself was located several blocks away in the _Distretto Incatato_ , or Enchanted District, safely contained behind similar wards to those that protected the ICW.

The ICW's general style of architecture was vibrant but not overwhelming, with colorful mosaics depicting various magical beings and animals on the walls, while the floors were a local green marble that shimmered under the illumination of the large enchanted blown glass globes that floated high overhead. Albus ignored all of that, too used to his surroundings to really take in the magic or beauty of it any longer. He personally thought it was rather gaudy, but there was no accounting for taste, he supposed.

Albus made his way through the halls of the ICW, giving genial nods to those he passed and enjoying the ones he got in return. It was his due, after all, as he _was_ the Supreme Mugwump. His office was more of a suite of rooms rather than just a single one, with a private office, bathroom, and small conference room all attached to a large receiving room. Albus's stop in his office was sadly a short one, however, as he truly did have meetings to attend to, though he honestly wished he didn't. Unlike the Ministry and Hogwarts, he couldn't just pass his duties on to some hapless underling and expect them to get it done right. No, the greater Magical world needed only the deft touch that he could provide.

The first few meetings went as smoothly as ever, with Albus providing his usual sage advice and the other delegates eating it up, but the one that occurred just after lunch had him struggling to hide a deep frown. It started out relatively normally, with the representative from America droning on about more responsible use of magically controlled spaces in urban areas. So far, so normal.

What wasn't normal was the shift in focus after that by the Swedish representative bringing a topic to the table that wasn't on the agenda. Alvar Persson was a tall man with dark hair and vibrant green eyes. He tended to keep to himself most of the time, only chiming in when absolutely necessary. He had a low, rumbling voice that carried easily in the large chamber the representatives were meeting in.

“Supreme Mugwump, I would like to raise two issues that have been left ignored, perhaps willingly so, by this body for quite some time,” he said, rising to his feet. “I realize there are those who may think that I am overstepping my reach, but I _have_ done my research, so my concerns are not unfounded. May I approach the body with my findings?”

Albus leaned forward, intrigued.

“Very well,” he said. “What are the issues you would like to bring before us today to discuss, Representative Persson?”

“Thank you, Supreme Mugwump,” Alvar said. “First and foremost, I would like to raise the issue that is Azkaban Prison. It is a blight on the world and only encourages Dementors to continue to breed and exist in the world. It is also a cruel and unusual punishment for those imprisoned there. There are better ways to keep people incarcerated without tormenting them daily. Besides, it offers no hope for rehabilitation for those who have not committed grave crimes against Magic and Her laws.”

Albus sighed heavily. “This matter has been brought before the ICW before and the British Ministry of Magic has continually refused to listen to us, even with my advising them to do so. What makes you think this time will be different? They will continue to bury their heads in the sand in the face of their own issues.”

“Be that as it may, it is important that we at the very least eradicate the dementors and perhaps refit Azkaban. Ward it to high heaven and eliminate the need for the dementors at the very least. They are not only a danger to our world but also to the Mundane world,” Alvar insisted. “They have only stayed at Azkaban because they supposedly cannot get any other food source, but the Mundane world is ever-expanding and it's possible that the dementors could spread there if given the chance.”

“We will do our best to present your request to the Ministry, but without proof-”

Albus was cut off by a thick folder of parchment that landed on the table in front of him. A quick glance around had him confirming that the other delegates had their own stack of parchmentwork in front of them as well.

“This is the past twenty years of research, condensed into one master report,” Alvar told them. “It has all the data we could find about the crimes of those who have been put in Azkaban in those twenty years, the listing and severity of those crimes, and how long they lasted before succumbing either to the elements, disease, or the Dementors' Kiss. I would like to see how the British Ministry can ignore that. I would also like to propose giving them a hard deadline to make a decision. A month, perhaps?”

There were murmurs of agreement around the chamber, something Albus didn't like the sound of. One of the other representatives cleared her throat after a few minutes.

“Why don't we put it to a vote?” she suggested. “All for having the British Ministry giving this body a decision within a month's time?” She paused as those voting raised their lit wands in a blue color. “And those against?”

There was a second pause for wands to be raised with orange lights before the magic of the chamber tallied the votes. “Very well. Supreme Mugwump, the British Ministry of Magic has a month from the time you present these findings to them to bring us their reasons as to why Azkaban Prison should remain open in its current state,” the representative said. Albus nodded gravely. He would present it during the next Session and-

“That deadline shall also not exceed more than four months from this date,” the representative continued on. “If it does, then you will be asked before this body why it took so long.”

Albus arched an eyebrow but nodded once more before turning his attention back to Alvar. “And what was the second item you wanted to speak about, Representative Persson?”

Alvar cleared his throat and then folded his hands in front of himself as he began to speak

“While it is not as grave as the deplorable state of Azkaban Prison, it is still a matter that I believe still needs to be brought up. I was looking at some parchmentwork and realized that we have not had a new Supreme Mugwump in over fifteen years. I bring this up because the maximum term limit for that position is supposed to be ten years as per the official charter of the ICW. I would move that we thank Supreme Mugwump Dumbledore for his service on his body and start the election process for his successor. He has served us admirably, but I would not want that service tarnished by any sort of accusation of favoritism or wrong-doing on any of our parts.”

Albus's mind went temporarily blank. How- How _dare_ that- that _upstart_ try to oust him from his seat of power!

“Ah, my boy, there were extenuating circumstances for my term exceeding the usual limits, and-”

“And those extenuating circumstances are no longer applicable, sir,” Alvar said, keeping his tone respectful. “The terrorist known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, AKA 'Lord Voldemort', is dead. Gringotts has provided this body with that verification as of this past August. The ICW hasn't been on a war footing for over a decade, not since the loss of Lord and Lady Potter. Riddle's followers have disbanded as well. Most of them are in Azkaban and unable to cause any problems. With all due respect, Supreme Mugwump, it is time that you step down with grace and dignity. Surely you would like to see the greater magical world continue to build upon the standards that you have set down over the past fifteen years. It would also give you more time to devote to your duties as Headmaster of Hogwarts and as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, would it not?”

Again, murmurs of agreement rippled around the chamber. There were some who seemed as discomfited by the notion of Albus leaving as he himself did, but much to Albus's dismay, it appeared that a greater number agreed with Alvar. Albus wracked his brain, trying to think of any way he could turn this around. The rules strictly forbade any former Supreme Mugwump from being a representative for their home country for a period of seven years unless there were extenuating circumstances, and Albus couldn't think of any that would allow him to take over from the current representative for Great Britain either.

Another vote was swiftly held on the matter. Albus grit his teeth harshly when it passed with an almost overwhelming majority. At the end of things, he had six months until he was ousted for good from his current position. He would hold only two important titles in the magical world come that year's summer break and it rankled. That was hardly enough time to do anything, let alone construct a plan to maintain some level of control over the ICW.

He forced a smile and a bit of a bow towards Alvar before steering the topic of discussion away from his impending departure. Albus wondered just how much of a living hell he could make the Swedish man's life before he left without being too obvious about it. He'd have to sit down and plan it out step by step. Yes. That sounded _perfect_.

  


Minerva sat in her private quarters, relaxing with a cup of mulled spiced cider and a good book. It was rare that she had a night to herself without having to grade anything or be on patrol. Oh, sure, she had her notification portrait nearby if anyone came to its larger counterpart near the Transfiguration classroom, but it had been quiet so far that night which either spoke of peace or an issue that had yet to reach her ears.

She had just taken a drink of her cider and turned to a new page in her book- a delightfully ridiculous romance novel about a Scottish laird and his feisty new arranged bride -when a knock sounded on her door. Given that none of the students actually knew where her personal quarters were, it could only be one of her fellow professors. Minerva tore her attention away from where Isobel had just hexed her husband with pink spots for presuming to know her mind, sighing softly before marking her place with a bit of ribbon and returning the book to her dimensional store.

She rose to her feet, pulling her dressing gown more tightly around herself, and then went to the door, curious to see who was on the other side. Albus would've likely swanned in without a care in the world shortly after knocking, so she doubted it was him. Much to Minerva's pleased surprise, Filius stood on the other side of the door, a bottle of one of Minerva's favorite whiskeys in one hand and a pair of some appropriate glasses in the other.

“May I come in, Minerva?”

“If you don't mind me in my dressing gown and pajamas, yes,” Minerva replied, stepping back to let him in.

“We've seen one another in far worse than pajamas and dressing gowns,” Filius reminded her as he entered the room, “but thank you for the consideration. I just came for a little chat. Nothing too serious planned, I promise.”

“Well, considering you have McDonald's Finest there, I think I can handle a little chat, even if it does turn serious eventually,” Minerva assured him, closing the door behind him. “I wasn't doing much of anything anyways. Just enjoying the quiet of the night before I went to bed.”

“I won't interrupt your quiet for too long, I promise.”

Filius made himself at home in the partner of Minerva's armchair, pouring them each a measure of the drink before handing one over to her and then settling back in his chair. The two of them enjoyed their drinks in quiet for a bit, simply reveling in the good drink and even better company.

“So,” Filius began after a long stretch of silence, “I suppose I'll have to break my promise to you about things not being serious.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Have you noticed how distracted Albus has been? Ever since he came back from that ICW meeting a month ago, talking to him has been even more frustrating than usual. He doesn't answer even simple questions put to him and his focus seems further from the school than normal.”

Minerva took another sip of her drink and then set the glass down on the side table next to her chair. “Yes, it does, and that worries me. I've always been concerned about him holding three full time positions, but he's always seemed to be able to balance them and handle himself admirably. Now I'm wondering how much of that is just the image he wants us to see.”

Filius hummed in agreement. “If I may be so bold, the fact that his attention is away from the school is actually turning out to be somewhat of a blessing,” he said. “I know I've been able to get more done in the past month than I have in all the years I've been teaching here.”

Filius shook his head before continuing on. “He didn't even notice that some representatives from the bank were able to come in and cleanse that curse Riddle placed on the Defense position years ago. Remus shouldn't lose his job at the end of the year unless he commits an act of severe idiocy, and the man may be many things, but an idiot is not one of them.”

“Riddle?” Minerva frowned. “The only Riddle I know of was a Tom Riddle. He was a year ahead of me at Hogwarts, I think. He was Head Boy. The last Slytherin to hold that in fifty some odd years.”

“Mm, yes. He was... arrogant.” Filius idly swirled the contents of his glass, watching the amber liquid shimmer in the light of the fire. “He took his name and rearranged it into a phrase far too many people have cowered from- 'I am Lord Voldemort'. My cousins at the bank discovered that after Lucius Malfoy brought in an Infernal object Riddle had given him to look after. It was semi-sentient and wickedly powerful. It's since been destroyed, so no need to worry about that. Anyways, Riddle cursed the Defense position when he was refused the job. It's why we've never been able to keep a professor in that position longer than a year.”

Minerva let out a sharp huff of air. “That's hardly a way to act when you're turned down a job. I've been turned down by many a position before I got this one and I never cursed anyone. I thought about it, but that was mainly because those who deserved it were all idiots.”

Filius laughed. “I'm sure they were. You've never tolerated idiots well.”

“Certainly not. And why should I?” Minerva asked. “There's no point. Still, I'm glad the curse is gone. Remus is a natural teacher and with that amulet of his, he's far safer than he's ever been. I just wish we had known about those amulets sooner. It would've saved a lot of trouble while he was a student here.”

“Gringotts had been trying to get them imported for close to eighty years before this past year, but the Ministry always denied them. They give them to the werebeings that work for the bank, of course. It's part of their employment package. The Ministry has never advertised how eager Gringotts was and still is to recruit werebeings. They're stronger and more resilient than most other magical humanoids, after all, and that's nothing if not a boon to cursebreaking and other magical endeavors.”

“You don't usually talk this much about the bank and your... relatives,” Minerva said. Filius shrugged.

“Albus has never liked me to draw attention to it, but he's not here right now, is he?” he said with a mischievous grin. He finished off his drink and then poured himself another small portion. “It's just us, and I consider you one of my oldest and best friends, so...”

Minerva smiled at that. “Thank you, Filius. You're one of my best friends as well. Speaking of friends... Have you noticed how cohesive most of the first years are this year? I wonder what's caused it?”

Filius shook his head. “It's the Harry Potter-Black effect. The boy may look like his father but he's certainly much more his mother in not seeing House lines. To be honest, he's more like his grandfather, Charles. He had the same sort of all-encompassing acceptance of people.”

“Save for those who got on his bad side,” Minerva countered. “Then you could see the griffin where the wizard should be.”

“Yes, well, one shouldn't piss off a griffin and expect to escape without a severe mauling or worse,” Filius retorted. “I'm just glad that the most of the other students seem to be following his example. There are some hold-outs- Ronald Weasley comes to mind. Pomona was telling me she overheard him complaining about Mr. Potter-Black's familiar.”

“Ah, yes. I don't think any of us were expecting him to be a true Parselmouth, but he's certainly done more for the reputation of those kinds of magic users in this country in the short few months he's been here than anyone has in a long, long time,” Minerva said.

“He refuses to be ashamed of it, and it likely doesn't hurt that his familiar in no way resembles that monstrosity that followed Riddle around,” Filius pointed out. “An egg-eating snake is harmless to everyone and everything except for quail and chicken eggs, no matter how much some might protest that.”

“Weasley again?”

“Merlin, yes. According to Pomona, anyways. I just hope that Mr. Weasley learns that complaining all the time will win him neither friends nor fame.”

“Preferably before someone else teaches him that the hard way,” Minerva said dryly. Filius chuckled.

“I couldn't agree more.”

The two of them talked for a half an hour or so more about the general state of the school and its inhabitants until Filius bid Minerva goodnight. She saw him to the door, watching until he'd disappeared down the corridor to his quarters near Ravenclaw Tower before shutting her door, a smile on her face. She truly appreciated her coworkers, especially those who actually reached out and interacted with her as more than just people who taught at the same school together.

Minerva returned to her chair, picking up the still-warm mug of cider and retrieving her book from her dimensional store. Now, then, where was she...


	9. Chapter Eight

Severus looked over the list of potion ingredients Albus had given him for the fifth time in as many minutes, a deep frown etched on his face. The ingredients seemed innocuous when bought on their own, but the list that Severus had been given was ringing a faint but alarming bell in the back of his mind. He took the list with him as he searched through first the Hogwarts library’s public selection of potions books and then his own private collection. When he didn’t turn up anything there, Severus turned to a resource he had hoped he would never have to use during his tenure as Hogwarts's Potions Master: the Restricted Section of the library.

It was in a book that had been haphazardly stuffed behind a far thicker tome that Severus found his answer. He carefully ran his cotton-gloved fingers over the yellowed and crackling parchment as he compared the list of ingredients there to the one he’d been given, his stomach dropping further with every match. Severus sat back in the chair of the isolated study alcove he’d commandeered, mind racing.

The potion went by many names, but the most common one was the Waters of Lethe. It was nearly undetectable when added to a liquid and proving one was dosed with it was all but impossible as well. Unlike the _Obliviate_ charm, which was relatively instant and could be reversed most of the time, the Waters of Lethe were permanent and insidious, taking upward of a month to take full effect as they slowly but surely erased the mind of all memories save for those required for continued survival, making it look like the affected person was going through an accelerated version of dementia. If the person taking it was lucky, they could relearn how to walk and talk over time, but they’d never regain the memories of the individual they’d once been, as there was no known antidote. Not even a bezoar could halt its progress once ingested.

Given the fact that there was no cure for the potion, it was highly illegal in the current day, being banned by the ICW. Possessing the ingredients wouldn’t cause any trouble, as most of them were commonly found in an apothecary’s shop on any given day, but actually brewing the potion successfully outside of very stringent circumstances and without complete oversight from the ICW would see the brewer sent to the World Court straight away for a trial, even if there was no intent to use the potion.

White-hot anger boiled in Severus’s stomach at that thought. Dumbledore had just handed over the list with a genial smile and a request to source the materials for a much needed potion, assuring Severus that he would be well compensated for his time in both procuring the ingredients and brewing the resultant potion. Well compensated indeed. A maximum security cell in Azkaban would look like a luxury after the ICW and World Court got done with him if he was caught, and Severus just _knew_ that Dumbledore wouldn’t be the one to take the blame.

No, he’d pull his disappointed grandfather act and lament about how he’d done his best to guide Severus back to the Light and provide him with opportunities to change his ways, and wasn’t it horrible that Voldemort’s legacy still carried on for so long after his defeat? Severus scowled at the image. No. _No_! He was not going to be Albus Bloody Dumbledore’s convenient scapegoat, not any more.

Severus took the book with him after checking that it had the appropriate bookplate and charm marking it as Hogwarts property, not wanting anyone to accuse him of owning such a thing, and made his way to the nearest Floo point. He made sure to pick the Floo that came out in the Three Broomsticks before hopping though several more destinations and finally coming out in a quiet cafe in Diagon Alley. He paid the proprietor for the use of their fireplace and then headed out into the crisp late February air, his cloak drawn firmly around himself.

No one dared to stop him on his way to the bank. Perhaps it was the intense expression on his face or the predatory cast to his gait, but Severus's path went unimpeded. He entered the bank and then got into line at the nearest teller line, his Occlumency shields drawn as high as he could get them without becoming entirely emotionless. Once he got to the front of the line, he inclined his head politely to the teller.

“I would like to make an emergency appointment with account manager Stormbane please,” he said. “If you would tell them Lord Prince is here with an urgent matter to discuss, I would appreciate it.”

“Wait over there and someone will come get you when Stormbane is available,” the teller said, gesturing at an empty waiting area in a far corner. Severus nodded curtly and then went over, making himself comfortable. Thankfully it was a Saturday and he had no other plans or appointments that day. He doubted he'd be left waiting long, but some of the tellers liked to play games with their wizarding patrons if they were bored or said patrons had been excessively rude. It was why Severus always made a point of being courteous to them when he visited the bank, as it was the height of stupidity to piss off the beings who controlled access to your money. Not everyone seemed to understand that, unfortunately, so it tended to be a crapshoot as to what kind of experience Severus would get even with his own politeness.

He wasn't left waiting too long that day, only spending perhaps ten minutes or so waiting before a new goblin came up to fetch him and bring him back to Stormbane's office. Severus had inherited the title of Lord Prince from his grandfather's estate at the age of eighteen and had used a portion of his inheritance to fund his Mastery studies. The rest had been carefully invested in various potions industries and other sure-fire fields that would see a steady growth without too much risk. Stormbane had been the Prince account manager for two hundred years and had been quite happy to indulge Severus in his investments, as more money coming into the accounts meant more accolades for them, so it was profitable all around.

Stormbane was waiting in their office when Severus arrived. They shot Severus a curious look, as it had barely been a month since they'd last spoken in person.

“Lord Prince. A pleasure to see you, as always.”

“And you, Stormbane. I don't mean to disparage your warders and security protocols, but how secure is this office right now?” Severus asked, figuring it would be best to rip the metaphorical bandage off and not pussyfoot around the issue. Stormbane's eyebrows rose sharply.

“I take it what you're about to tell me needs more than just the standard privacy wards?”

At Severus's nod, Stormbane gestured with one hand, raising the level of the wards on their office to just below a war footing. It was the highest they could go without alerting their superiors.

“Very well. What is it that you have to tell me?” they asked, folding their hands on their desk. Severus drew out the potions book from an inner pocket of his cloak, as well as the list Dumbledore had given him, and then laid both before Stormbane on their desk.

“The headmaster provided me with this list of ingredients this morning, as well as a request to brew a potion with them once the ingredients had been procured. He didn't specify which potion was to be brewed, and most of these ingredients are ones that can be found in any well-stocked apothecary. The list of ingredients and their amounts seemed familiar, so I went searching for where I'd seen that particular combination before,” Severus began, picking up the book and then opening it to the correct page. He turned it so Stormbane could see what was written there and then waited.

“The Waters of Lethe, hmm? He's growing bolder as his desperation increases,” Stormbane murmured thoughtfully. “You did right in coming here. Is there anyone you trust enough to bring this to the ICW or Wizengamot who isn't a supporter of his?”

Severus leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. “Lord Black,” he said finally. “He's no follower of Dumbledore, but he's not seen as strictly Dark any more; he's more Gray than anything else. He was also never a known supporter of the Dark Lord, and certainly not one of his Death Eaters, either. I would say Dowager Longbottom as well, but perhaps not right away.”

“In that case, I say we'd best bring this to the ICW,” Stormbane said. “While Dumbledore may have his supporters there, he hasn't taken the time to feather his nest there like he has in the Wizengamot, or so my sources say. Will you be willing to testify and provide your memories of Dumbledore giving you the list?”

“As long as the memory is triple-certified by Gringotts, the DMLE, and the ICW, yes,” Severus said. “I don't want Dumbledore getting out of this.”

Stormbane grinned, the expression not boding well for Dumbledore. “Don't worry, Lord Prince. The Horde will be happy to help finally take down that old fool.”

  


Arcturus stepped into the bank, doing his best to control his curiosity. It wasn't every day that one got an urgent summons from Gringotts, after all, and judging from the language used in the abrupt missive, it was vital that he be there. He showed the summons to the nearest available teller and was swiftly escorted into the depths of the bank, eventually ending up in a conference room where several unexpected beings were waiting. Severus Snape and Amelia Bones he recognized, but not the three mages dressed in the navy blue battlerobes of the ICW, the organization's logo of two crossed wands over a shield embroidered in silver over their right breasts, nor the goblin sitting at the head of the table.

“Ah, Lord Black. Good. Now that you're here, we can begin,” the unknown goblin said. “For those not aware, I am account manager Stormbane. This, of course, is Lord Arcturus Black, as well as Lord Severus Snape-Prince and Madam Amelia Bones, Regent for the Ancient House of Bones. Our guests are Investigators Bright, Soderfeld, and Nguyen of the ICW.”

Arcturus's eyebrows threatened to disappear into his non-existent hairline as he took a seat at the conference table. “The ICW? What in the world is going on here?”

“All in due time, Lord Black. First, Lord Prince would like a set of memories verified by the three bodies represented here. He has my permission to draw his wand and retrieve it, and Madam Bones and Investigator Bright have my permission to draw their wands and verify the completeness and bias of the memory,” Stormbane said. They tapped a finger against a rune that was carved into the tabletop, making a Pensieve appear neatly at the center of the table. Severus drew his wand and then touched the end against one of his temples, half-closing his eyes as he concentrated on drawing forth the memory.

A strand of silvery material clung to his wandtip as he pulled it away from his temple. Severus let the memory strand fall into the Pensieve and then stepped back, stowing his wand away once more. Amelia went first, waving her wand over the Pensieve in a complex pattern before flicking her wand. A piece of parchment emerged from its end, coming to rest on the table. She picked it up and handed it over to Stormbane.

“I officially find and certify that this memory is true and with a very low level of bias,” she announced before taking her seat once more. Investigator Bright performed his own verification test, the motions of his wand more complex than Amelia's but still providing a similar result. He gave Stormbane the piece of parchment that his scan had generated and nodded to Severus.

“I officially find and certify that this memory is true and with a low level of bias as well,” he said.

“As does Gringotts,” Stormbane said, snapping their fingers and causing their own piece of parchment to appear. They collected the three pieces of verification and then set them aside in a neat pile. “Now that that's done, we can move on to the reason behind this meeting.”

They tapped a rune on the rim of the Pensieve and then sat back, watching as the memory within played out over top in full color and sound.

_Severus was walking down one of the many hallways in Hogwarts, his mind on the upcoming Easter break and what plans, if any, he might make for them, when the familiar form of the Headmaster- who was clad in robes of spring green with various flowers around the hems and cuffs -approached him from the other end of the quiet hallway, a warm smile forming when he spotted Severus._

“ _Ah. Severus my boy. Do you have a moment?”_

_Severus bit back a sigh and then stopped near a window. “Yes, Headmaster, but only just.”_

“ _Wonderful. I was hoping you could procure these ingredients for a potion I'll need brewed soon,” Dumbledore said, producing a folded piece of parchment from an inner pocket of his robe. Severus took the parchment and flicked it open with a jerk of his wrist. He scanned over the list._

“ _Hm. Nothing too hard to obtain, but some of these might be more expensive than what the budget has room for,” he told Dumbledore, looking up from the list. “May I ask what the potion is?”_

_Dumbledore just waved the question off. “All in due time, Severus. Let me know when you have the ingredients and I'll get you the recipe.”_

_With that, he turned on his heel and left, abandoning Severus in the corridor._

The memory ended after that, fading to black before the silvery material fell back into the Pensieve. Arcturus narrowed his eyes. Dumbledore giving Severus a list of ingredients couldn't be the only reason that they were there. The goblins didn't suffer wastes of time, after all, nor fools, and Arcturus respected them for that.

“What else is there?” Inspector Nguyen asked, leaning forward in her chair. “What aren't we being told, honored account manager?”

Stormbane gestured to Severus, who extracted the Hogwarts library book from his dimensional store and then carefully turned to the correct page. He showed it to the three ICW representatives, as well as the list Dumbledore had given him so they could compare the two for themselves, and then sat back. Arcturus itched to see what they were looking at but figured he'd see soon enough, or so he hoped.

It didn't take long for the inspectors to finish their reading. Soderfeld passed the book and list over to Amelia, who, once she finished reading, leaned back in her chair.

“By the Lady and Her grace,” she muttered, running a hand over her face in sudden exhaustion. “He didn't mention who it was for, did he?”

“If he had, I would've included it in the memory, Madam Bones, believe me,” Severus said as Arcturus leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the book's contents.

“Merlin's bal- beard! The Waters of Lethe? That's been outlawed since 1374!” he breathed.

“Trust me, I'm aware,” Severus said dryly. “It took me a while to remember where I'd seen that particular combination of ingredients and proportions before. As part of my mastery, I did a research paper on banned potions and what had caused them to be given that ban. The Waters of Lethe predates even Amortentia and are equally as dangerous. There's a reason I don't teach the latter in any of my classes, even if my predecessor used to.”

“Ah, yes, Slughorn did always favor the practical demonstration,” Arcturus said. “I take it you don't teach any sort of love potions?”

“Hardly. Relying on those-” Severus cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. “Never mind. Suffice it to say that I think love potions are like liquid _Imperius_. They don't generate true love, merely an intense and inescapable infatuation against one's will. The Waters of Lethe are ten times more dangerous than even the strongest love potion because at least Amortentia can be reversed.”

“Very true,” Nguyen said. “You came straight here after you discovered what this was?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Severus replied. “I took several different Floos because I'm relatively sure the ones at Hogwarts record public destinations, but I came out of Dawnbright Cafe and headed straight here. I haven't left the bank since.”

“I can attest to that,” Stormbane said. “Lord Prince has not left the bank since he arrived here little over ninety minutes or so ago. Now that we've had the memory triple-verified and you've seen the proof of Dumbledore's plans, we will turn it over to the ICW and the DMLE.” They paused. “Unless you would allow the Horde to take matters into our own hands?”

“Not at this time, honored account manager,” Soderfeld said with an amused look. “Though if he tries to run, we would welcome the Horde's help in bringing him to justice.”

“You'll have it,” Stormbane assured her. “Now, Lord Black-”

“Yes?” Arcturus leaned forward a little, trying to not betray his interest.

“You were asked here as a neutral representative of the Wizengamot. You do not side with Dumbledore, but you have also not declared him an enemy, so no one can say you have been particularly swayed one way or the other. We will need that neutrality in the days ahead. Do you think you can continue to provide it as needed?”

Arcturus didn't hesitate to reply. “I will happily provide that neutrality,” he said, his mind casting back to the encounter he'd had at Harry's birthday party. He intended on fulfilling the debt that Lady Magic had placed on him and his House. Harry had done his part in ridding the world of the Dark Lord; now it was time to get rid of the so-called Lord of the Light.

  


Albus was not having a good day. He'd done his best to delay putting forth the findings about Azkaban to the Wizengamot, but the Spring Session marked his last chance to do so before the ICW called him out on it. He sighed, shuffled through his notes, and then made his way to the Chief Warlock box. At least he still had that title. His title of Supreme Mugwump would soon be snatched away from him and the greater Magical world would no longer have any reason to listen to him. He'd have to deal with the idiots in the Wizengamot and the children at Hogwarts.

Hm. Maybe he'd finally run for Minister of Magic. He'd have to give up being Headmaster and Chief Warlock, but Minister Dumbledore did have a nice ring to it, and it meant he'd be able to influence even more policy. Hell, he'd be the one setting them as Minister. With that cheery thought in his head, Albus settled in to his seat and placed his notes on the table in front of him.

He called the Session to order and then looked out over the Wizengamot chamber. “Welcome, everyone to the Spring Wizengamot Session of 1992. Before we open the floor to new business, I have something to pass along to you from the-”

Albus was cut off by the doors opening to the chamber. A goblin entered and strode across the audience floor, accompanied by a tall wizard in the uniform of the ICW. Albus blinked several times, caught entirely off-guard by the interruption.

“Ah. Can we help you?” he asked, adjusting his half-moon spectacles to see better.

“Actually, you can get to your feet, Albus Dumbledore,” the goblin said.

“Excuse me, but it's Chief Warlock,” Albus corrected as he got to his feet. “What's this all about?”

The wizard from the ICW cleared his throat and approached the Chief Warlock's box, the sound of his footsteps seemingly loud in the quiet chamber as the assembled lords and ladies watched the interaction between the two men.

“Albus Dumbledore, currently Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I am Investigator Alexander Bright of the ICW, and you are under arrest for soliciting the brewing of a Class Seven banned potion,” he announced.

Albus was about to protest when he saw movement on either side of the box he was in; two more ICW officials stood to his left and right, blocking his escape. He mentally cursed the fact that the Chief Warlock's box was so low to the ground and open on three sides- the fourth was a wall that both protected his back and had a door in it that led to his own private bathroom -that he couldn't properly shut it off from the outside world.

“I assume you have proof of this?” he asked, drawing himself up to his full height.

“Yes. Now, you can come quietly with us to stand before the World Court and say your piece, or you can resist arrest and have the Horde come after you,” Bright said, gesturing at the goblin standing near the center of the speaking floor. “As of this moment, you are stripped of all titles and powers. The title of Acting Headmaster is now passed to Minerva McGonagall, and the title of Chief Warlock will be held in abeyance until your successor has been named by the nobles gathered here with due process of a vote. If you do not already have legal counsel available, you will be provided that by the World Court.”

Albus contemplated calling for Fawkes, but the blasted bird had recently had a burning day and likely wouldn't be any good for a few days more. Albus had had to Floo in to the Ministry like a common person rather than travel by phoenix-fire like he preferred to do. No matter. He was sure all of this would be cleared up and whatever mistake had been made would be fixed.

He stepped out of the Chief Warlock's box, surrendering himself to the care of the nearest ICW agent. He planned on being the perfect prisoner. Add a little disappointed grandfather to the mix and he was sure to have them all eating out of his hand.

That plan lasted all of an hour. Albus was Portkeyed away from the Wizengamot chamber and into a holding cell that had wards that stripped him of all magical items, including his dimensional store, wand, and glasses. He didn't really need the glasses to see save for a mild case of near-sightedness, but the charms on the half-moon spectacles were a work of art. He was quite annoyed to lose them, but even more so his wand. The removal was worrying but since he wasn't defeated by any definition of the word, he was relatively sure the wand's allegiance still lay with him.

Albus took a seat on the thinly padded bench that seemed to be the only piece of actual furniture in the cell and settled in to wait, sure someone would be along soon to let him out. He honestly didn't think they'd keep him there too long, and the threat of having the goblin Horde chasing after him if he attempted to escape was enough to keep Albus from attempting to Apparate out of the cell. Besides, he was sure the ICW would've thought of that before transporting him to wherever the cell was- the Portkey hadn't felt like an international one, or at least, not any that Albus had taken before -so it was likely pointless.

Albus leaned back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. He could wait. Waiting was old hat to him at that point. He hadn't survived over a century in the world without knowing how to be patient, after all. The door to his cell opened several hours after Albus had been deposited there, admitting a witch the former headmaster had never seen before. She was dressed in simple black robes with the ICW logo on them, her dark red hair swept up into a simple bun.

“I am Adelaide Marcos, law-witch and your court-appointed legal representation, as no British firm stepped forward to claim you as their client,” she told him. “We will be heading to the courtroom in a half hour. Is there anything you want to disclose to me before the preliminary hearing begins, Mr. Dumbledore?”

Albus wanted to protest that it was 'Headmaster Dumbledore' or 'Supreme Mugwump' or 'Chief Warlock', but if what Bright had said was true, those titles weren't his to claim at the moment. He shook his head as he rose to his feet.

“No, Madam Marcos, I have nothing to say. Let's get this over with.”

  


The courtroom was filled to the brim with representatives from the ICW, the Wizengamot, and the World Court. Arcturus watched as Dumbledore was brought into the courtroom and guided to the defendant's table, his lawyer at his side. Severus had been sequestered in a protected witness room so that no accusations of tampering or collusion could be made by either side, and would be staying there for the duration unless he was needed for further testimony. Arcturus noticed with a pleased smirk that some bright spark had put power suppression bracelets on Dumbledore's wrists, severely limiting how much magic the old wizard could use. He doubted Dumbledore had enough power to create a dim _Lumos_ at the moment.

Dumbledore took his seat, his expression surprisingly composed given what he'd been accused of. He was dressed in surprisingly somber black robes, though Arcturus figured someone besides Dumbledore had made _that_ decision. The presiding judge took her seat at the high bench that overlooked the courtroom, rearranging the parchment on the table in front of her before picking up her gavel and rapping it against the table.

“Your attention, please! The World Court is now in session. The case of _The People v. Dumbledore_ is to be heard before the Court today. For those unaware, I am the presiding judge, Rinko Inouye. The charges against Mr. Dumbledore are thus: that he did, with intent, solicit the brewing of a Class Seven banned potion, specifically, the Waters of Lethe. Each side will be given an appropriate length of time to present their side of the case. If necessary, Veritaserum Maximus can and will be used, and due to the severity of the crime, Mr. Dumbledore will not be given the opportunity to refuse taking that potion. Both sides may make their opening statements now, beginning with the prosecution.”

The prosecuting lawyer got to his feet, glanced over at Dumbledore, and then began to speak.

“Honored members of the World Court and guests, we are here today to investigate why one of the formerly most well-respected wizards of the past century would even think about requesting that a banned potion, let alone one that has been banned for four hundred years by the ICW. We can only find that out by examining all the facts and hearing from the accused himself why he supposedly needed the Waters of Lethe. I would ask that you set aside any opinions you may have of Albus Dumbledore, good or bad, and look at only the truth of the matter. Thank you.”

He sat back down, allowing Madam Marcos to speak her piece.

“As my counterpart said, we can only find out what happened by examining all the fact. It's possible that another potion entirely was meant to be brewed and the Waters of Lethe happened to be the first thing that the person that was given the list thought of. As Prosecutor Lambert said, we need to look at the truth and only the truth before any decisions are made. May Magic guide our purpose and lead us to the correct path.”

“So mote it be,” Judge Inouye said. “Prosecutor Cordell, you may begin your questioning.”

“Thank you, your Honor. I would like to enter into evidence the triply-verified memory of the potion master who Mr. Dumbledore intended to use to purchase the ingredients for the Waters of Lethe and more than likely brew it. It has been verified independently by the ICW, the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Horde for its veracity and lack of bias. I would like to present it to the court without commentary for the benefit of all those here.”

“You may do so.”

“Thank you.”

Cordell stepped forward to where a projection Pensieve was waiting with Severus's memory in it and then tapped the side of it with his wand. Much as it had in Gringotts, the memory began playing over the Pensieve in full color and sound, though the projection was far larger than it had been in the bank so that everyone in the courtroom could view the memory.

Arcturus didn't bother watching the memory, keeping his eyes fixed on Dumbledore to see how he reacted. The former headmaster was tensing with every second that passed. Given that he was clearly seen handing the list over to Severus and that the list was in his own handwriting, it was hard to deny that he hadn't been involved. Even Madam Marcos seemed to sense that, though she would of course do her best to defend her client, not matter how fruitless it seemed.

When the memory finished playing, Cordell cleared his throat. “I would also like to enter into evidence a book that was borrowed from the Hogwarts library. It usually resides in the Restricted Section, but Potions Master Snape removed it to double-check his findings. The book in question is _Most Potente Potions,_ and is an original copy of the first printing, which is why the Waters of Lethe potion is still in it. All printings after it do not carry the recipe. Why that book is still in the Restricted Section where any student with the sufficient permissions to be in that section can access it, I am not sure.”

“Very well. Is there anything else you would like to say, Prosecutor?”

“Yes. I would like to call Albus Dumbledore up to the stand and question him under the influence of Veritaserum Maximus from the preapproved list of questions,” Cordell said. Judge Inouye nodded in agreement.

“Mr. Dumbledore, approach the witness box and take your seat there,” she instructed. Dumbledore rose to his feet and then did as instructed, sitting down in the witness box. He warily eyed the ICW Potions Mistress that approached the judge's bench. She showed the judge that the vial of Veritaserum Maximus she carried was still properly sealed with wax and untampered with before going over to the witness box.

“Open your mouth, please,” she told Dumbledore. “For both your and the court's information, Veritaserum Maximus is a highly refined version of the usual Veritaserum potion. It cannot be fought against and ignores Occlumency training or other attempts to control what is said by the being ingesting it. As such, you will be asked a set of questions that have been preapproved by the Court and agreed on by both sides of this case, and a bailiff will be on hand to provide a privacy ward to prevent unauthorized questions from being asked.”

She opened the potion vial and then waited for Dumbledore to follow her instructions. Much like a petulant child, the former headmaster simply sat there, his mouth firmly shut. Arcturus had to stifle a laugh quickly behind a hand. That course of action was not going to go well for Dumbledore. He was proved to be correct barely a few minutes later when Judge Inouye threatened to levy a charge of being in contempt of the court against him. When Dumbledore went to protest, the ICW Potions Mistress moved quickly, grabbing hold of his jaw and tipping three drops carefully within his open mouth.

Dumbledore spluttered but soon went still, his expression smoothing out and his tense posture relaxing. After checking him over with a quick spell to make sure his vitals were still good due to the strength of the potion, the Potions Mistress stepped aside to allow Cordell to start asking his questions. The prosecutor took a piece of parchment with him as he approached the witness box. He cleared his throat and then asked his first question.

“Albus Dumbledore, what potion were you intending on having Potions Master Severus Snape make with the list of ingredients you requested him to acquire?”

Dumbledore blinked several times before answering, his voice devoid of any emotion or inflection. “The Waters of Lethe.”

“Thank you for that confirmation. What was the purpose behind acquiring the Waters of Lethe?”

“I was going to use the potion on Representative Alvar Persson of the ICW. He was the one who prompted the inquest into the conditions of Azkaban as well as reminding others on the ICW that the term for the Supreme Mugwump was only ten years rather than the fifteen I have held it for. He is the reason I will no longer have an overt international influence amongst the greater magical world for at least seven years because a former Supreme Mugwump cannot be the representative for their country after they step down from the office for that length of time.”

Murmurs broke out across the courtroom at that, and the bailiff quickly raised the ward that would keep Dumbledore from answering any unapproved questions that he might hear. Judge Inouye called for order, and once it was restored, gestured for the bailiff to lower the ward. Once everything was quiet once more, Cordell resumed his questioning.

“Why did you choose Potions Master Snape to brew the Waters of Lethe?”

Dumbledore shrugged lazily. “He is the resident Potions Master at Hogwarts. Additionally, I hold the fact that he was a former Death Eater over his head to make him do whatever I ask of him. He was a spy for both myself and Voldemort during the first war. If things were found out after the potion was brewed, he would have taken the blame and no one would've questioned it because of his past.”

That earned another raising of the ward as the audience broke out in angry comments and shouts. Former Death Eater or not, Severus Snape was well known outside of the British Magical world for his innovations in potions. To have someone treat him so callously and with so little regard for his life was astounding. Arcturus was very glad Severus wasn't in the room right then, as he was sure the younger wizard would've reacted _very_ poorly to that revelation.

The remainder of the trial didn't last very long after Dumbledore was given the antidote to the potion. Given the severity of Dumbledore's crimes and the irrefutable evidence for them, Madam Marcos declined to ask him any questions. There weren't many others that could be asked that could soften the blow. The jury didn't take that long to deliberate behind a heavy privacy ward that blocked them from from view and hearing range from the rest of the court.

Barely ten minutes after the barrier had gone up, it came down and the jury foreperson approached the judge's bench with a copy of their decision. After handing over the parchment, they sat back down and waited for Judge Inouye to read over everything. Once she had, she looked up and focused on Dumbledore.

“Albus Dumbledore, on your feet,” She said. She waited for Dumbledore to stand before continuing on. “The jury has found you guilty on all charges. Normally we would return you to your country of origin and have your government oversee your imprisonment, but as the jury has pointed out, Azkaban is under inquest and is not suitable for you. Instead, you will be imprisoned at the maximum security facility in Atlantis. Your sentence will last for the rest of your natural life. If you have an estate, two-thirds of it will go to your closest living relative while the remaining third will go to Potion Master Snape in recompense. Due to the fact that you were planning on using a Class Seven banned potion against a member of the ICW, you will not be allowed to apply for parole. Do you understand these charges and your punishment, Mr. Dumbledore?”

“I do, but you are assuming that I will... what's the phrase? 'Come quietly?' Fawkes!”

There was a long stretch of time before Fawkes appeared in the courtroom. He hovered midair for a moment before passing by Dumbledore entirely and settling on Arcturus's shoulder. Arcturus was startled but quickly regained his composure, reaching up to place one hand gently on Fawkes's warm breast. A small jolt of magic passed between them, and Arcturus instantly knew that Fawkes had broken whatever bond he had with Dumbledore and had instead decided to throw his lot in with the House of Black.

Dumbledore all but howled in anger as two guards hauled him away and out of the courtroom. Arcturus watched him go, his expression carefully composed. Judge Inouye shook her head in distaste at Dumbledore's actions before speaking once more.

“That concludes the trial of _The People v. Dumbledore_. Court is dismissed!”

She rapped her gavel against the bench one more time before rising and leaving out a side door. Arcturus glanced up at Fawkes, who looked down at him with one bright black eye.

“Two out of three debts repaid, and the third, I think, will be a task gladly seen to by the House of Black for a long time,” he murmured. Fawkes trilled happily, the melodic song easing a tension in his magic, heart, and soul that Arcturus hadn't even realized he'd been carrying. Magic was on their side and the world was looking to be a brighter, better place, just as it should be.


End file.
